rebuilding bridges
by elspethpoppy
Summary: sherlock is 'dead' and misses home. and john. and his stuff. only problem is its not safe to come out yet. john is still mourning and molly is trying to take the pain away. M to be safe because of violence in later chapters. John/Molly teeny weeny bit Sherlock/Irene in later chapters. Sherlock/Molly friendship
1. Chapter 1

**this is my first fic so please bare with if it doesnt make any sense. it will, eventually. i own nothing**

Sherlock looked up at the room that was now his home. It wasn't too shabby for a dead person, a small lodging close to his grave with a table, currently covered in paper and the general stuff that covered the table back in baker street. He'd managed to source a microscope as well so you could still find body parts in the fridge, not that there really was a fridge per se. Just a cupboard that managed to always be incredibly cool no matter what the outside temperature was. Next to that was a two ring gas camping stove and some hooks for pans and other cooking equipment. To the right of that again was a sink like contraption. It was, essentially, just a bowl that had a leaky tap over it. When he was done with the water he'd throw it out the grimy window. No one seemed to notice. To the left of this improvised kitchen and behind where he was sitting was a curtain rail with a heavy drape on it to act as a screen to his bedroom - a small bed with some hangers and a chest with his clothes in. All in all the room was exactly one-and-a-half lengths of himself. He'd measured it.

It was at this moment that miss Adler sauntered from behind the drape and opened it. Completely naked.

"you know that doesn't impress me don't you?" Sherlock said as he raised an eyebrow

"secretly you love it" she said, raising her own eyebrow to match and bending over so close that she was practically on his lap.

"oh for crying out loud! Put some clothes on you deranged woman I'm trying to work!" he almost pushed her purt bottom away but decided she'd probably take it the wrong way,

"suit yourself" her bottom lip stuck out as she sacheyed over to Sherlock's chest and got out a crisply ironed shirt.

"not my clothes! I don't have many. Anyway, you couldn't have walked down the middle of London naked, you would have been arrested." he had to admit, against his better judgement, she did look good in it. And irritatingly unreadable, which in it's own way was quite... Arousing? No, that couldn't have been it. He was above all of that. The idea of love just seemed so vulgar to him. You had to bear your soul to someone you didn't trust just because your primitive mind said that they were baby making material. He wished that sometimes ordinary people could keep their desires in check, then maybe the world would be a little simpler to live in. Mind you, the woman currently sitting opposite him with her legs wide open and no underwear on that he could see would be out of a job. He had to be thankful to her, he supposed, after all she did find the room for him. She'd contacted him just after it was splashed all over the news that he'd flung himself off of a building, his phone making that antisocial sound that always made him smile inside when he heard it. He wondered if that was the sound she made when... He cut himself out of that train of thought,he didn't want to go down there. At all. Ever. Going down that train of thought would make life messy.

She seemed not to hear him as she draped herself over the adjacent chair in what Sherlock presumed was an incredibly uncomfortable position and twiddled her hair.

"have you been to your grave recently?"

"no" he said, going back to his microscope and the slide of blood underneath it.

"I have"

"oh really" he was getting good at sarcasm these days. Now that he didn't have John to point it out to him he'd had to start noticing it by himself and trying it out. John would be proud.

"your little friend was there. That's the eighth time this month" she smiled, she knew mentioning his live in would spark his attention.

He gave her an incredulous look, "you've been counting?"

"yes. Every time he brings you flowers. It's really quite pathetic." sherlock snarled under his breath. No one called John pathetic.

"he was talking to you as if you were there! It was hilarious! Kept talking about your things, how he couldn't touch them, that your violin was gathering dust. Sweet little thing. I wish I had a live in like that."

"don't call him a live in. moriaty called him that."

"does it remind you of him then?" the look on Sherlock's face, a sort of hidden hurt - the way his mouth got very small and quivered ever so slightly - told Adler she'd gone to far. She knew how Moriarty had threatened the live in and some others, and how much the mysterious man opposite her truly missed his only friend, how he wished he could tell the short man that he was in fact, not dead, and wished he could move back into baker street without anyone knowing. But he couldn't, someone would notice. London was big enough to hide in, but due to the press coverage before his fall everyone knew what he looked like, and he wasn't exactly inconspicuous with those eyes. Those beautiful eyes, like ice. Ice on a sunny day.

"I think it's time I went home, leave you to whatever smear of bodily fluid you've got under there"

"blood"

"any particular type?"

He didn't respond.

She knew being left alone was Sherlock's favourite past time, he could go to his mind palace or whatever he called it.

She put her own clothes on and slipped out the door, Sherlock didn't notice, but John did say he had a habit of carrying on a conversation when no one was there. So she shouldn't be surprised or upset that he didn't notice her leaving, but it did. She hadn't joked that night, she would have him, anywhere, any time, but that wasn't his thing.

It was growing dark when Sherlock left his mind palace, he hadn't noticed the woman leaving, but she'd left his shirt, creased, on his chest. It annoyed him that she didn't respect his clothes, ironing was a very hard thing to do, especially when you lived in essentially what was a slum. John would respect his clothes, and Molly.

Molly. He sighed.

She was an enigma to him. He knew Molly had feelings for him -probably some instinct saying he had good genes. which he did. And he did honestly enjoy her company. It was just that he never seemed to be able to open his mouth without making one of them feel awkward or hurting her feelings. Sherlock counted himself as a man with an incredible vocabulary, and the idea that he couldn't have a conversation with someone he liked irked him greatly.

Take Christmas.

He was only trying to point out that she had a date and would be leaving soon and then he had to go and read the bloody label. He was sorry. Truly. He didn't enjoy embarrassing people or making them think he was just horrid. Every time it just showed him how much he didn't understand his own species, something he was not about to admit, not even to john.

He sighed again and looked around the room, and then at his phone. 11:25pm. Now seemed as good a time as any to wash. The sink was full and he retrieved his soap from inside his chest, the smell of it helped to deter moths from his clothes. As he stripped off and neatly folded his shirt and trousers over the chair he contemplated his old home. He decided that there were only two possessions that the missed, the first being his violin and the second being a bath. A nice big one with hot running water. He shivered as he scrubbed himself with a somewhat threadbare flannel. He had been back to baker street a couple of times, making sure that John and mrs Hudson were out before he did so. John hadn't touched any of his things, his violin was in exactly the same place as he'd left it. Seeing it made him want to weep, the instrument seemed to signify everything that he had given up for his friends. He had considered taking it, but he was sure John would notice. He didn't notice much but he was bound to notice that. So Sherlock left, with only a few clothes - nothing too fancy - and some soap, and left his precious possession behind with his most precious friend until such a time as he could have it back.

Thinking about it now as he shivered again he really should have taken a toothbrush.

He was glad that Miss Adler was telling him what John was up to. He was also glad, in a very selfish and needy part of his mind, that John was mourning him. it meant that he hadn't believed what Sherlock had told him in their last conversation.

He took the water and tipped it out the window, no small feat as he had to stand on a chair to do it. He spilt a little of it down him. It didn't matter too much as he wasn't wearing any clothes but he would have to clear the puddle up by his feet. He took the flannel and willed it to absorb the water. It didn't. This annoyed him but what could he do? Not much, that's what. He wasn't keen on using his precious toilet roll to clear it up, so he would leave it. The water would leave a stain, but there were plenty on this scummy floor. Sherlock took his clothes and hung them up to air them. He wasn't overly fussed about walking around in the room in the nude, the only person who had come to visit him had been Miss Adler, and he would hear if she came up the rickety staircase to see him. And she'd already been here once today. He closed the drape and got into bed. His feet stuck out the end so he curled up under the sheets and tried to drift into his intoxicating and confusing dreams. He found it odd that whilst in his dream state, everything made perfect sense and was so clear, yet when he awoke not only were they fussy but he realised the many laws of reality that he had broken in his subconscious state. His brow furrowed as he stared at the wall and contemplated these dreams. Nearly all of them had John in them. A few had Molly, Adler and Lastrade and even Mycroft, but always John was in them, telling sherlock that he was coming to get him, that friends kept him safe. But he was wrong. Friends could never keep Sherlock Holmes safe, only the absence of them. And that lack of friendship was what kept John safe, that's what Sherlock had to keep telling himself, over again, like a mantra.

"alone keeps me safe, alone keeps me safe. It has to." and with this circulating in his head, he fell into the arms of his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**so here's chapter two, mostly from Johns perspective. hope you enjoy.**

It had been six months since Sherlocks death, and John hadn't stopped mourning. Not once. He had gone to his grave - at least once a week - had seen his therapist and had gone back to work. But the colour had gone, everything was in a dull tone of grey. Like in those annoying romantic novels his girlfriends used to read. God was he really that pathetic?

Yes, apparently.

The thought of the repulsive shell he had now become made him even more depressed, as did his patients. His whinging patients that frankly had nothing wrong with them when in _his_ soul _he_ was a broken man. Mrs Hudson had been kind, hadn't made him pay rent for two yet. Molly had been there as well, for a few days she had come to live with him. They mourned together, she for a love that had never been and he for the only person who truly understood him. The best friend he had ever had. The whole thing had bought them together, in a somewhat morbid way. And they often had lunch in the mortuary, neither of them particularly keen on the living in the cafeteria. Molly had got the right idea, working with dead people. Her patients didn't whine. John had looked into working with her but St. Barts didn't need two people working on the dead, they barley needed one.

He entered Molly's little kingdom to find her up to her elbows in some poor sods ribs. The picture made him laugh despite himself.

"that's very rude you know, laughing at the dead." she didn't sound that angry. "it's been a long time since i heard you laugh." she looked at him sincerely and then started smiling at the absurdity of the situation. Soon the two of them were laughing together, John crying and Molly still with her hands in the victim of some horrible homicide.

Defiantly a morbid relationship.

"quavers?" John asked, holding up a triumphant bag of crisps

"sounds lovely. A nice dinner for two"

"with quavers? Your easy to please."

"set the table would you John, I need to, er."

"wipe entrails off your hands?"

"wipe entrails off my hands" she shook her hands above the carcass and walked over to a huge sink.

"er, John?" Molly looked over with a pleading expression on her face.

"Want me to turn on the taps?"

"Please." John walked over and turned on the faucet, just the right consistency of hot to cold. They seemed to get tangled in each others arms and awkward ums and sorry's ensued as they began to distangle themselves.

John left Molly at the sink and walked over to the slab next to the corpse, found two chairs and positioned himself with his back to it. Molly didn't seem to mind eating around the dead, she had a stomach of steel.

She walked over and sat down, taking a few crisps from the bag in Johns hand. Neither of them ate very much, they had both lost a lot of weight since sherlock's fall, so one bag was enough for the both of them.

"so who's that?" John pointed at the body behind him with a mouthful of crisp

"him? 35 year old. Shot in the stomach.

"why were you up to your elbows in him?"

"had to find the damn bullet. That and he makes a good hand warmer." her face was completely serous as she said this. As if she had become Sherlock, just for those two minutes. "Sorry. That really wasn't very funny was it?"

"we might as well lighten the mood" John said, "after all, he probably would've wanted us to find the funny side of it."

Molly smiled inwardly at john's comforting. It was funny. He'd always thought Molly as being incredibly awkward, but he now realised that was just how Sherlock made her feel. It was how Sherlock made everyone feel. Molly got up and walked over to a cupboard behind her.

"hate to be a bore, but I really need to get on with this one. I'll just get his belongings out. I do wonder why they send stuff to me. You can stay if you like John but I won't be very inter..." a sob broke out mid word and she crumpled over like someone had hit her in the stomach.

"Molly?" John ran over to her. "Molly what's wrong? What is it? Tell me Molly please tell me". John was by her side now, with his arms around her protectively. In her hands was a riding crop. She cradled it as if it was a child.

"this was his" she gasped through sobs. "I haven't seen it in years. He used to come down and whip bodies that I had in" she smiled at the memory, but John was slightly disturbed as to why Sherlock would whip the dead.

"he'd do it to find out about bruising. It was so, well. It was a major turn on if you don't mind me saying. He'd be fuming when he came in, and so happy when he left. I couldn't help but kid myself into thinking that I'd contributed to that happiness. Sometimes I wonder if he even noticed me at all." she started to cry properly now, tears streaming down her face in a steady trickle.

John began rocking her. "of corse you contributed to his happiness, you were very special to him. Honest." Molly thought to herself, and thought of that conversation she had had with Sherlock after he and John went on the run. The conversation she would never repeat to anyone.

"I suppose your right." she said finally. "in fact John, you are right, very right indeed." and she smiled again, but this time it was a guilty smile, a sad smile. Her head was resting on john's shoulder. It was so intimate, she realised. The only other time she had been this intimate with a man had been after sex. But john didn't seem that way at all. He was strong and comforting. He didn't seem at all like he was going to take advantage of her, which in itself was very inviting.

"your so good." she said. "your like my own personal guardian angel. You know that?"

John blushed "if anything you've been mine. I've been such a mess recently, it's a wonder that you put up with me." Molly unwrapped herself from john's embrace and stood up. He followed her lead.

"we've both been a mess" she put her hand on his arm, as if to convey the point through touch, "but we had each other to help us through it." she smiled at him, and John felt his insides squirm in delight. He thought for a minute, his brow furrowed and she began to feel uncomfortable. "what is it John, what aren't you telling me?"

"we get along well, don't we?"

"I'd like to think so." she was confused, what was this leading to?

"why don't I take you out tonight, for dinner."

"what, like a date?"

"if you want it to be one." he looked at her through his eyelashes, like pretty girls when they're pretending to be shy. They were so close. Anyone who walked in at this moment would have thought they were lovers.

"I would love it to be one." she tried to convey as much emotion as possible in those words. She thought she must've done as his eyes lit up as she said them.

"very well then. Why don't I pick you up about eight?"

"sounds great."

They both smiled at the rhyme.

xxxx

Sherlock gasped. His dreams finally unable to keep their claws in him as he thrust himself into consciousness. He looked around and then remembered where he was. He had done this a couple of times recently. When he eventually came too reality hung in his stomach like a lump. He hated that.

He got up and went to his chest. There was nothing clean or uncrumpled to wear. Back in Baker street he had always irritated John with his messiness but his room was always spotless and he never had a hair out of place. He even colour coded his underwear and sock draw so he always wore the same colour socks, boxers and shirt. He put that down partly to the sociopath in him.

He needed a cigarette. Badly. The best thing about living here was that he could indulge his habit whenever he wanted. He even occasionally managed to get the sort of thing John would not approve of. He justified it as research. By taking them he could understand what it was like for ordinary people. It was such a great escape from his own mind. He smiled and contemplated it. He had some in his chest. No. He had to get on, he couldn't escape whenever he wanted. That was what set him apart from ordinary people. He knew when to stop.

He'd run out of cigarettes though, so he put on his clothes from yesterday and walked out the door.

xx

He returned two minutes later to get his wallet.

All out of cash. Damn.

Oh well, he'd just acquire some on the way there.


	3. Chapter 3

John rang Molly's bell and waited. He was nervous. He wasn't quite sure why, this wasn't the first time he'd been on a date. He supposed this was the first time he'd been out with someone who really mattered. This night had a hell of a lot riding on it. If he messed up it could mean loosing his closest friend.

Molly was nervous too. She was wearing her slutty lipstick. She took Sherlock's advice and wore it to stop her mouth looking too small. She checked herself once more in the mirror. Presentable. She opened the door and there John was. He was wearing a tie and everything. She was glad she'd dressed up for tonight, but his mouth was hanging open. God were her tits hanging out?

No. But then.

"what is it?" she was beginning to panic. What had she missed?

John shut his mouth, realising that it was making her uncomfortable. "nothing. It's just, well. You look amazing. Should've put a comb through my hair." not one hair looked as if it hadn't been forced to stay on his head but Molly didn't say anything.

John held out his arm. "shall we?"

Molly linked her arm in his. "yes. Let's."

John walked her down the street and caught a taxi for them. Well, he thought, this has to go well. Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more.

xxxx

Sherlock huddled at against the cold at the funny news agent stand where he bought his cigarettes.

"you alright son?" said the old man sitting on the other side of him. He had no teeth, was not a smoker but did drink. Was married but no longer wore his ring and had a photo of what must of been his younger self and a woman with a baby.

Widower. Wife died about... Two years ago, judging by the slight spit on the photo where the man had been kissing it.

"fine thank you." he did not trust people who called other people 'son' or 'love' when they were complete strangers. But then, he didn't trust many people.

"usual is it?"

"what?" Sherlock looked down at the man in surprise.

"your usual is it?" he repeated. "You know, your lucky strikes." he looked at Sherlock as if he was an idiot.

"oh, um, yes, thank you" he said. Had he really come here so often that the man knew his cigarette preference?

"don't look so shocked." he laughed. "not many people order lucky strikes or 'ave eyes like yours. Like ice they are when your thinking. You look a bit like that Sherlock 'olmes fella" he contemplated "uncanny really. But you probably wouldn't catch him looking as crumpled as you. Strikes me as a very proud man."

sherlock paid for his cigarettes and left, making a mental note not to go there again, or at least not for some time. It wasn't safe to be recognised and now he didn't particularly like the man. He was utterly right. Sherlock was very proud. And this smelly old man who no one cared about had had the audacity to call _him_, Sherlock Holmes, crumpled! Well he wasn't standing for that, he was going to Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

John was glad that he could order just a starter, as was Molly. They didn't try to make excuses or make themselves eat more than they normally would. Which was nice.

Despite the fact it was a date it didn't feel awkward, like they had to know as much as possible by the end of the night. Molly also didn't feel as though she should have tidied her flat earlier, as she didn't think John was going to ask to come in when he took her home. John couldn't help staring occasionally at her. He was defiantly punching above his weight with her. They sat for the most part in companionable silence until John said "I really wasn't sure you were going to say yes to me you know." he blushed slightly as he said it, and Molly noticed he had a dimple on his chin.

"then why did you ask me?" she leaned in so she could hear his response properly. She could almost hear the backhanded insult that John was going to say. All the other men she had dated had been the same. It was normally a ploy to get her into bed on the first date. And it always worked.

"it's just with Sherlock gone I've realised that you can't put things off. And I didn't want to ask you because, well, your in love with him." she was completely taken aback. She really didn't expect it. John had just been completely open about her feelings for Sherlock and didn't seem to mind at all.

"and you don't mind?"

"that depends, are you still in love with him?"

"I don't know." she was on the verge of tears. No man had ever been so nice to her, only ever used her. She was going out with the wrong men.

"we both loved him, just in different ways. Its alright if you are in love with him. I just thought that you weren't when.."

"when what?"

"you relaxed into me today, when you were crying."

"you noticed that?"

"hard not to. I seem to notice absolutely everything you do. Like I'm attached to you by strings and whenever you move I have to move with you"

"that has to be the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me" she laughed.

John blushed again, embarrassed by his comments. He didn't know what to say.

"and probably the most romantic." she smiled at him again. It was a very comfortable smile and she reached her hand across the table and he took it. They sat there smiling and chatting.

xx

The time went by so quickly and soon the waiter came over

"sorry to interrupt but we're closing now."

"that can't be right." said John looking down at his watch.

"I'll think you'll find it is." said the waiter.

"oh." said John. "it's nearly one."

"yes it is." the waiter seemed a bit annoyed. It was understandable. The two of them had only had starters. But now Molly thought about it they had drunk loads. She was surprised she wasn't completely pissed, normally she was such a light weight.

"your bill sir." the waiter presented John with the bill and a card machine. They were the only ones left in the whole place, the staff were packing up around them.

John put his card in the machine. Molly was about to protest but he shot her a don't-ague-your-not-going-to-win look. It was a very commanding officer look. She imagined that was the look he gave his squad in Afghanistan before they went out on patrol.

John paid and the waiter left. "He didn't seem too happy."

Molly giggled "no he didn't." John came round and held her coat out for her. Molly blushed. No man ever did that for her. She shrugged on her coat and john put on his. They walked out arm in arm.

"you've left some things at my place." John said as he hailed a cab. "do you want to come back and get them?"

"oh" said Molly, "I hadn't realised. Yes I think that's a good idea." john inwardly congratulated himself. It was true that she had left some things at the flat, but it wasn't anything he couldn't bring into work. Really he just wanted her to himself. Not for sex, just a chat. He loved hearing her talk. The way her mouth moved was so sensual. He put his arm round her as the cab sped off towards Baker street.

Sherlock looked round. He had waited for exactly one hour and seventeen minutes for mrs Hudson to leave. John was out as well. Probably a date judging by the smell of aftershave that lingered in his room. It was good he was dating again, Sherlock decided. It meant he was trying to get back to normal. He wondered who the lucky girl was. He was under no illusion that it was his presence that prevented John from keeping a partner. People found him annoying, especially when they thought he was taking away something that by rights was there's. Which was utterly ridiculous. Just because they let John see them naked did not mean that they had a right over him. John had seen him naked hundreds of times. it took John a while to realise that Sherlock showered with the door open, something john found incredibly odd.

He didn't. How else was he supposed to hear if someone came in while he was in the shower. It was a statistical fact that most assassins targeted people when they were in the shower. And Sherlock had made a lot of enemy's, even before he met John. It was also why he kept a knife and a gun in the bathroom, another thing John found odd but Sherlock had taken advantage of on more than one occasion.

He went over to his bedroom and to his chest of drawers. John hadn't been in here - he knew that from the occasional times he followed John to his grave - but due to the fact that there was no dust in the room he presumed mrs Hudson had been in and cleaned. In his top draw he kept his socks. He hadn't nearly taken enough of those the last couple of times he was there. He needed a few shirts and hangers as well.

He stood up and pondered how he was going to get all this back to his room. He went to his bed and looked under it. Last time he was here there was.. Yes. There it was, a small suitcase that had been his grandfathers. S.H. was printed on the top of it. Sherlock Holmes, his name sake. This suitcase had been all over the world. His grandfather had traveled light. Thinking about it this couldn't have been his only suitcase, it was the width of his forearm and length of his whole arm. That could not fit a months worth of clothes and toiletries in it. Mind you, this was the man who colour coordinated his socks, shirts and pants talking.

He plonked the suitcase on the bed. Time was of the essence. Mrs Hudson wouldn't be back but from past experience John would be back no later than half one, and it was quarter to now. He was sure John would be coming back. He only made that much effort with aftershave on a first date. And he was a respectable man. The rule was not until the third date wasn't it? What _it_ was, he wasn't so sure. Coffee? Seeing the inside of the others home?

He took some shirts out of his wardrobe and some hangers.

Socks! Mustn't forget socks! He rushed into the bathroom and got his toothbrush and some toothpaste then ran downstairs to mrs Hudson's flat and found some detergent and fabric softener. He ran back upstairs and tried to pack it into the small suitcase. Why was it so small, for crying out loud! He got everything in somehow and closed the case. He remade his bed quickly and walked out the room.

He stopped.

He hadn't noticed it before in his rush to pack the things he needed but there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb. His violin.

It was calling to him, and without realising he had walked over and picked it up. He was watching himself touch it, run his fingers down the strings. He caressed it like a long lost lover. Tears fell on it, it took him a while to realise that they were his. He picked up the bow and put the instrument in the crook of his neck and just stood there for a moment, eyes closed, bow above his head like he was going to start playing at the royal Albert hall to thousands, or was just about to play for John. He arched the bow down slowly and bought it down on the strings. A solitary note rang out across the flat. It seemed so loud against the charged silence that had gone before it.

A sound came from downstairs. Keys in the door. Voices. Sherlock froze.

"no, that is not what happened!" john's laughter wafted up to Sherlock's ears. He snapped out of his stupor and looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. They were coming up the stairs. Well she was, her tread was light, too light for john's.

"would you like a drink?" john's voice came from downstairs as he pulled his keys out the door

She stopped on the stairs. Sherlock couldn't see where she was as the door was closed. She seemed close. Probably had her hand on the door handle. Sherlock put his violin down and picked up his suitcase. His breathing was erratic.

Where the hell could he hide?

"I'd love one."

Molly? What was molly doing here? Was she john's date?

It didn't really matter. She stepped away from the sitting room door and went into the kitchen. Sherlock pressed himself against the wall in the vain hope that neither John nor Molly would see him. He could see her in the mirror. She had heels on, a little black dress that was a little too short and a push up bra. Well it was either that or she had breast enlargements since he had seen her last. She was wearing lipstick. The sort that made her mouth look big. Her slutty lipstick. So they were on a date.

Wow. He really wasn't expecting that. Thinking about it now they were the perfect couple. Both doctors, of similar heights and most importantly Molly, unlike john's other girlfriends, was not irritating in the extreme.

John went over to her. Neither of them had seen him which was defiantly a good thing. If Sherlock wasn't franticly trying to find a way out he would have been very interested in noting the courtship details of the ordinary human. One thing was for sure though. This defiantly wasn't the first date, they were far to intimate and the rule forbade a potential mate coming home on the first date.

They were practically in each others arms and looking at each other in an irritating lovey dovey way.

Sherlock's mind began to race as he began to think of different ways out of the flat. Way number one of out the front door was out of the question, they'd hear his keys and the door had a habit of being stiff just when you wanted stealth on your side. Way number two of out of his bedroom window was also out of the question, due to the fact that the two people he was trying to avoid were obstructing that path. That only led way number three; out the window of john's room, shimmy up the drain pipe and onto the roof. It was just a case of timing.

"I don't normally do this." said Molly, her face was a slight flush and her breathing deep, a glass of wine unnoticed in her hand as John leaned in.

"neither do I." he said back. Do what? Sherlock thought.

"especially not on the first date." she breathed. Sherlock was confused now. What about the rule?

John didn't seem to care and he pounced on her. She didn't seem to mind as she opened her mouth to receive him. Sherlock really would have wanted to stay to see how they did this, not having any experience in this field himself, but he wasn't going to get a better chance to take his leave as the two of them became more tangled in each other.

He opened the door from the sitting room to the hall and rushed upstairs. Silently he walked across the floor and to the window. It was annoyingly creaky so he went to open it gently. It wouldn't budge. He tried again but harder. Still nothing. He was beginning to panic again now. John and molly thundered up the stairs. Think think think. Wardrobe! Sherlock squeezed in and shut the door behind him just as the two of them crashed into the bedroom, tugging at each others clothes. The door didn't shut properly with him in it but neither of them seemed to notice.

"are we seriously doing this?" Molly managed to say between coming up for air and latching on to john's face.

"looks like it." he panted as her unclipped her bra with the ease of someone with experience.

Sherlock thought to himself. He could either find the whole incident thoroughly disturbing and try to avert his gaze while his two friends rutted on each other or he could see it as advancing his learning in a department that he knew nothing about.

He decided for the latter and made himself comfortable in his best friends wardrobe, wishing he'd bought a pencil and paper to make notes. Miss Adler would be pleased.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly woke with a start. What a weird dream. She looked round the room that wasn't hers puzzled... Her gaze fell on to john's naked frame sleeping peacefully next to her. She smiled and the memory of the night came flooding back to her. John had been a complete gentleman until they got back to the flat. She wondered if she had left any stuff here or if that was just a ploy to get her here. Well it had worked.

She wondered what had woken her up. She could have sworn she saw a shadow leave the room as she got her bearings. She didn't want to think about that though. The shadow looked too familiar and she had been plagued with it for months now. She mentally shook herself and laid back down next to the man she had decided to spend the night with. He looked so sweet asleep. His little face was like a child's. He was obviously having a very good dream. She wanted so much just to reach out and stroke his completely calm features but she didn't for fear of waking him.

A clatter came from downstairs. And a muted voice. Her blood ran cold.

What should she do? She really didn't want to wake up John. Especially if the shadow was the shadow she thought it was. Her only other option was to go and face the intruder herself.

She snuck out of bed and padded across the room. She had nothing to defend herself with. God sometimes she was stupid. The stairs were creaky as she tried to creep down them.

What the hell was that? Sherlock spun round. Someone must of heard him when he dropped the biscuit tin. He kept his extra ammunition in the biscuit tin, and he really needed it. Bollocks, why was he so clumsy? Whoever they were they were coming down the stairs. He dived under the table and watched as a shadow past the door. It was Molly. Unless john had grown breasts in the past few months. She opened the door to the sitting room and went in. She was trying to be cautious but the moon bathed her with light as she stepped in and reflected off her skin. He pondered whether to stay where he was. She wouldn't see him where he was but she might get John and that would be bad. Very bad. He stood up, silent this time and walked towards her as she was looking out the window.

A hand clamped around Molly's mouth and nose and another around her waist. She tried to scream but the hand stopped any noise coming out. She struggled but he just held her closer in a vice like grip. His coat pressing against her back. Oh God, She thought. She was naked. Completely naked! She should of woken John. This man was going to rape her. Tears began to fall down her face and onto his hands. She was going to die and then John would get arrested for it. Oh God why did this have to be the last moments of her life? Why couldn't she be with John and happy? Why did she have to die in the arms of a complete stranger?

"don't. Scream." the voice sounded so similar, like...

"you know who it is Molly. Now. I'm going to take my hand away but you must promise not to scream. Alright?" she nodded.

He took his hand away from her mouth but kept the other one around her waist. She realised how close they were now. His was breathing hard, as if he had been running. Or his body was pumping with adrenaline. Hers certainly was. He took his hand away and she spun round.

There he was. So tall and strong before her. He had lost a little weight since they had last spoke and seemed a bit ruffled around the edges, not quite so neat and pristine as she remembered him. But still there, still alive. She thought sometimes that she had imagined the last conversation. She almost asked John for the number of his therapist, but if she spoke about that she was bound to be sent to a nut house and that's certainly not what John needed right now.

Tears started to swim in hers eyes.

"oh, molly please don't cry. You know I hate it." sherlock stepped towards her and wiped her face on the back of his sleeve. He stroked her hair. She was cold to the touch. He realised that she was shivering in the moonlight. Sherlock took off his coat and wrapped it round her shoulders. Molly gratefully put her arms in the sleeves and did it up. She crossed her arms about herself in a very self-conscious way. She felt so small in his coat. His scent was all over it. She was still crying, she felt so exposed in front of him. She might as well have still been naked.

Sherlock did not know what to do. He wasn't very good in social situations and Molly seemed so sweet and small in his great coat. She was like a child wrapped in her fathers coat. He supposed he should hug her. He didn't particularly like physical contact, unless he was in a fight of course. Endearing situations however were not his forte so he simply gave her a pat on the shoulder. Molly decided to take it upon herself to help diffuse the situation and buried her head in his chest. Sherlock coughed rather uncomfortably and unwillingly hugged her back, patting her back as he did so. But she suddenly became furious,

"Where the hell have you been?! What happened to you? I thought you were dead! I thought i had imagined the whole conversation! I thought i was going mad! You didn't even call me afterwards!"she hissed.

Sherlock backed off, one thing he did not like was was a hysterical woman, who was also wearing his great coat, looking like she was about to slap him. Really hard. Surprisingly enough it had happened before. Probably with miss Adler. Yes, it was with her.

Molly raised her hand and it landed on his face. He stumbled back.

"ow! what is wrong with you!" he shouted at her.

They both stopped and looked up the stairs.

Nothing.

Sherlock sighed audibly and stood up straight. "I have to go now Molly." she tried to interject but he raised a hand. "no, I can't stay for you to shout at me. Here's my address" he scribbled it down on the note paper he and John kept on the table next to their laptops. "you might think we're safe but he's awake. He probably thought my voice was a nightmare, he has them most nights still. It will take him a while to realise where he is but when he does he'll figure out your missing. You have to be upstairs before that happens so he thinks you just went to the bathroom to get some water or something." Molly gave him a look. "I mean it Molly. We have thirty seconds before he snaps out of his stupor." he dashed to the door, grabbing his suitcase as he did so, then turned back, "By the way, nice pyjamas!" he raced down the stairs and out the door before Molly could say anything.

A noise came from upstairs, "Molly? Molly you still here?"

"yes" she called back up, "I just needed some, um, I just needed to walk around for a while." really, that was all she could think of? John seemed to buy it though and started to walk down the stairs.

"don't worry, I get that all the time." he said, his voice coming closer. Shit! She was wearing Sherlock's coat! She franticly looked for a place to hide it and stuffed behind Sherlock's chair.

"Molly," John came into the sitting room, "Aren't you cold? You could've worn my dressing gown."

"I like wandering around in the nude."

"mmmm." said John, "so did Sherlock."

"what!?"

"he had a habit of doing it when he was bored, or forgot I lived with him. You know he once went to Buckingham palace in nothing but a sheet."

Molly laughed, "really?"

"yes. One of the weird things that you found out when you lived with him."

"you really miss him don't you."

"yeah"

John looked so sad then, Molly couldn't help but go and embrace him. "don't you worry about him. What's done is done and there is no way you can change that" she tucked his head under her chin. She had forgotten how short he was standing up, he had always been the embracer in the past, now it was her turn.

"come on, let's go upstairs," Molly took his hand and lead the way, thinking how they were already in a grown up relationship.


	6. Chapter 6

Molly woke up the next morning to the smell of cooking. John was nowhere to be found. She got up, slipped on john's shirt and walked downstairs. John was in the kitchen, dressed in trackies and a t-shirt. "morning" he said as he looked up "don't get too close, I went for a run this morning and still haven't showered yet."

"that's alright" she smiled and walked over to him. She was trying to be sexy but wasn't sure if it was working. John opened his arms for her and she kissed him. "if you ask me I think you smell great, you have a manly musk about you. But that might just be your pheromones."

"mmmm." he said, kissing her back "that might just be it."

"I had a great time last night." Molly said, walking over to the table. "and thanks for, you know, understanding about the needing air thing. It's not you, it's just well, you know."

"I know" he said "thanks for being there when I needed you. For not running a mile."

"that's alright. Funny really, how we've only been on one date and we're already in an adult relationship."

"I should really take you out again."

"you should."

"how does tonight sound?"

"it sounds like fun." Molly giggled.

John turned back to whatever he was cooking and said over his shoulder. "how about I make you some breakfast first?"

molly sat on the chair and swivelled round. "you already have haven't you?"

"yes I have." he grinned and walked over to the table with two bacon sandwiches and glasses of orange juice. Well, it was just one sandwich but they didn't need any more.

Molly took her half and bit into it. "mmm. Just right. I didn't know you were such a good cook."

"I'm not. Bacon sandwiches are as far as it goes."

"such a shame. I'll have to cook in the future then. Or teach you how."

"maybe you will. I'll have to woo you with takeaway for now." he tugged on the shirt Molly was wearing, "and I thought you liked walking round in the nude?"

"i didn't know who was down here. It could have been mrs Hudson. That would have been a very awkward moment."

John laughed, "yes, it would have been. Shall I wash up?" he said as he picked up the plate. Molly paled as she realised it had been hiding the paper on which Sherlock had written his address. "no, I'll wash up." she said a little to quickly. "you go and have a shower."

"I thought you said I smelled nice?" said John with mock hurt.

"you do. But you cooked, so I'll wash up. That's the rules."

"you could always join me..?"

"no. That is one thing I can't stand. Showers are for washing not sex. Baths are for sex."

" I'll bear that in mind." John winked and walked out the room.

Molly let out a breath and grabbed the address. She took the plate and washed it up then crept up the stairs. She could hear the shower running and John singing, somewhat off key. She snuck into the bedroom and stuffed the address in her handbag. She whizzed round just to see John come in with towel round his waist.

"hello again." he said as he kissed her. "smell better?"

Molly leaned in for a sniff. "hmm... Different, yes. But better I'm not so sure about."

"really?" John leaned back to look at her quizzically.

"it's just now you smell clean rather than musky."

"oh. Is that a good thing?" he asked puzzled.

"yes" she gave him a sly smile whilst tweaking at his towel. "yes it is." John caught on and grinned as he leaned in for another kiss and took off her shirt.

It had been two weeks since the incident with Sherlock and john and Molly hadn't spent a night apart. Things were going pretty fast. John had already talked about moving in and for some reason molly wasn't completely terrified at the thought. In fact it all seemed utterly natural. She already had a draw of clothes at his place and he had a toothbrush at hers. They spent most of the time at baker street rather than Molly's tiny flat, mrs Hudson was beginning to talk about charging her rent. In a joking way but it seemed logical, she was spending so much time there.

But there was one thing that niggled at her conscience. Sherlock. She couldn't honestly enter in a relationship when she had a secret that was so huge. For crying out loud she was lying to the man she loved about his best friends death! Love? Yes, she supposed she did love him. Really and truly. It pained her to be away from him. Her short perfect little package. But the more serious it was getting the less and less she could look John in the eye when they were talking. The address was still in her handbag,she hadn't looked at it since she stuffed it in there two weeks ago.

She was standing, staring at a corpse when John found her.

"hello you." he said as he walked up and kissed her "what's wrong?" he looked worried as he stepped back to get a good look at her.

"nothing" she shrugged, avoiding his gaze, "just, you know, woman's stuff."

"oh." John said, backing away from her. Molly was almost disappointed that John was so predictably male about this. Honestly it worked every time.

"do you not want to come over tonight then?" he asked. Well, that was very considerate of him.

Molly realised that this might be her only chance to see Sherlock in a long time so smiled thankfully and said "would it be too much to ask?" She even pouted for good measure.

"no, no of course not. Trust me, growing up with my sister I know when a woman needs her space. Speaking of which, I'd like you to meet her." he seemed a little nervous. He should of been, meeting the sister was a big deal. Molly didn't quite know what to say. "umm. I'd love to meet her." she said before she could think of anything else.

"really? Oh Molly you have no idea how happy that makes me." he hugged her so tight she thought he was going to squeeze her to death. And he really did seem so happy. She wasn't quite sure why, her sister couldn't be that bad, could she?

"most people aren't very keen on meeting Harry, what with her alcoholism and all." John prattled. Alcoholic? But of course she knew that, it had just slipped her mind. Well, now she was going to meet her boyfriends alcoholic sister.

"don't you normally start with the less crazy people in your family and then move on to the people who might scare off the person your trying to impress. Normally when your already married so they can't run off. At least, that's what my dad did." Molly said.

"well I figured since Sherlock didn't scare you off neither should Harry." and there it was, that fatal blow that he didn't even know he'd delivered. God, she felt sick. She disgusted herself. She wanted to tell him, right now in their little patch of perfect. Scream it from the roof that Sherlock was alive. But that would shatter him, blow him up far more than any bomb could.

"no. He didn't." she was staring into the middle distance. Daydreaming. Snap out of it Molly! She thought, now is not the time to have an emotional breakdown. So instead she smiled up at him, into his eyes. She could see right into his soul. There were secrets in those eyes, left over from Afghanistan, but they were trusting and wonderful.

"you really think I'm sister meeting material?" she asked

"of course you are. I've never felt like this about anyone, ever. When I wake up in the morning and see your face i just think 'wow John, how did you manage to find a fallen angel and catch her and make her yours?'"

Molly laughed.

"I'm serious." said John "here I am, pouring my heart out to you and you laugh at me!" he seemed genuinely hurt and began to back away when Molly grabbed him by his shirt,

"no! It's just that you seemed to read my mind."

"really?" he asked "your not having me on are you?"

"never" she said and pressed her lips against his. He gave in and kissed back, holding her in his arms as she wound her fingers through his hair.

"I thought you had women problems?" he said as he came up for air and moved down to kiss her neck.

"I do," she said "I'm prone to mood swings. But it looks like you bring the best out of me"

"looks like I do" he smiled and looked up from where he had rested his head in the crook of her neck "I should get back to work" he said as he nuzzled Molly one last time and walked away. "I'll see you tomorrow then beautiful. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder!" he declared as he walked out the room.

Molly looked down at her feet. Well this was it, what she wanted. A night off so she could see Sherlock and talk to him about everything that had happened.

She took the address out of her handbag and looked at it properly for the first time. It was a pretty dodgy part of town. She'd have to get a bus there, no cabbie in their right mind would take her there. So, that was it. Surprisingly easy now that she had decided to do it, she'd been panicking about meeting up with him for the past two weeks but now it all seemed fine.

She looked around. Well, no time like the present, she thought. She would file the paper work for this guy and leave. It would only take half an hour or so.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was bored, he had been for two weeks. He had expected Molly to come and visit him by now, what on earth was the girl doing? Oh well, he thought, the chances that she was going to come today was minimal considering her track record so he had decided he'd wonder around the neighbourhood, delightful place that it was.

It dawned on him that he hadn't left the house in days and that he should probably buy a hooded jumper and jeans and then wear them at a ridiculous place on his buttocks in order to blend in. A well dressed man in this place was normally looking for a prostitute. He knew this as he had been told by many a lady of the night. They were far better informers than the homeless, especially the well paid ones. And they would always tell him everything as he looked after them. Some would call him a pimp, but as they were already in that line of work when he met them why shouldn't he take advantage of the fact that they had the information and he had means with which to pay them for it, whether it be money or protection from the sort of people they came across.

He saw one of them now, slutty red dress, heels, handbag, black eye. He walked over to her and they went together into a back alley, like any normal customer. Why on earth anyone would want to procreate here was beyond him, but then procreation in general was beyond him. They ducked behind some bins and he turned to face her.

"what happened?" he asked. The eye was swollen, probably about three days old, it was unlikely that she could see out of it.

"nothin'." she replied, "don' worry about it." she looked away at this, it obviously wasn't nothing but he didn't press the subject.

"what have you got for me? Must be important if you've got that."

She looked around to make sure they weren't being watched. Highly unnecessary, the people round here tended to stink, whether from poor personal hygiene or excess use of deodorant. Either way he could smell them a mile away.

"there's a woman looking for you." miss Adler? No, she knew where he lived and she was discrete.

"what's she look like and how do you know she's looking for me?"

"short, mousy long hair, awkward smile and nervous laugh. She ain' from round here that's for sure. She's asking for directions for your address, that's 'ow I know she's looking for you." at least she wasn't carrying his picture and asking people if they'd seen him.

"where did you see her last?" this wasn't the sort of neighbourhood Molly should be asking questions in, she'd end up dead if she wasn't careful.

"down near big dave's" she tossed her head in the general direction which seemed utterly stupid. He knew exactly where it was, and that Molly wasn't being careful.

"when, Crystal. How long ago?" there was a urgency in his voice now, and he had taken crystal by her shoulders and almost shaking her.

"err, I donno, about an hour ago"

"AN HOUR!" he roared. He flung his hands in the air and began to pace up and down the alley.

"well, it took such a long time to find you, I didn't know where you were. I tried your fla' but you weren' there!"

"oh never mind!" Sherlock began to rant. He was too busy thinking of the quickest way to big dave's to listen to grovelling excuses. "thank you for telling me, crystal, I'll see you soon and we WILL talk about that eye." he shouted over his shoulder as he ran back up the alley and out into the street.

Where was it where was it? He frantically looked round, there! A fire escape that led right up to the roof, from there he could just hop over to the next building, down the other side, round the small newsagents where he now got his cigarettes and then it was just a short sprint to big Dave's. Overall time: 10 minutes. Whether Molly would still be there when he got there: unknown.

He was on the home straight when he saw big Dave standing outside. He stood to one side as Sherlock careered into the mechanic shop that acted as a front for Dave's various illegal business ventures. He spun round to face Dave who stood leaning against a table, studying a crowbar closely.

"ahh Sherlock, I was wondering when you would turn up to see me. Usual is it?" he smiled, an incredibly smug smile.

"you know exactly why I'm here." Sherlock panted. He knew his face was red and he was trying very hard to still his breathing and not collapse and take in huge breaths on the floor.

"I'm sure I don't know what your talking about." said Dave. Sherlock took him by his lapels and slammed him against the wall. He was not in the mood for Dave right now.

"where is she!" he spat into the lardy mans face

"I'd be a lot nicer to me if I were you Sherlock. I could make life very difficult for you. I'm sure the police would be very surprised to hear you've raised from the dead." why was it that the one most menacing thing in London was a polite cockney?

Sherlock slammed him against the wall again "don't make me ask you again. And don't even think about threatening me. I could make your life just as hard. You know what happens to human traffickers don't you?"

Dave seemed to consider this for a while then said, "you know, I may just know who your talking about."

"small? Mousy hair?"

"yeah, she came through here. Just the sort of girl we were looking for. Innocent, you know. Clients like that sort of thing, little girl lost. And she certainly was that." he chuckled, a deep guttural sound which made Sherlock sick, so he slammed Dave against the wall again just for good measure. "where. Is. She." he was beginning to lift the other man off the floor, no mean feat, as he was about twice the size of the lanky detective.

"out the back, though she won't be there long. The boys are probably loading her now" he was going red in the face now and was pointing to a door on the opposite side of the room. Sherlock dropped Dave, took the crowbar that was still in the other mans hand and marched through the door, coat swirling around him.

**sorry, but the idea of Sherlock dressed as a chav just makes me giggle**


	8. Chapter 8

John didn't know what to do with himself. Without Molly it was like there was nothing to do at Baker street. Which was of course ridiculous. He had lived there for six months with no one. But in that time he tended to avoid the empty flat, going for runs or just meandering around the busy places of the metropolis. Other people tended to distract him, if only for a little bit.

Currently he was sitting in his chair, his book not being able to absorb him. He stared blankly into the space in front of him when he noticed a strange bulge in Sherlocks old chair, close to the bottom, like something was stuffed down the back of it. He stood up and went round behind the chair and slipped his hand between the back and the cushion. He felt something and took it out. It was black corduroy, big and looked exactly like... Sherlocks coat.

He held it in his hands. He could of sworn that bulge wasn't there before, and Sherlock died in this coat, John had never got it back. He buried his face in the coat and took in the scent, it was faint but there was a definite smell of Sherlock on it, a mix of his soap and sweat.

There was no way that his smell could of lasted six months, none at all. And he was absolutely certain that that bulge hadn't been there. So, he deduced, someone must of stuffed the coat down the back of Sherlock's chair. He daren't think who, because he died. John had seen it with his own two eyes.

But had he? He wasn't so sure now. There were things missing in his memory. He searched the pockets and found some receipts for a cafe that Sherlock liked in a dodgy part of town. There were quite a few, judging from these he could be found there at least twice a week. And a note with an address on it. The handwriting was female, not someone he knew and it had a kiss at the end. It was weird, the address seemed so familiar, like he had seen it before. A lightbulb came on in the back of his mind. He had seen that address, on the table when Molly was here, only that time it was in his best friends handwriting. John dived for the table and scrambled round. He had to be sure he wasn't going mad, he had to find that sticky note.

He practically turned the table upside down but it wasn't there. Mrs Hudson wouldn't of taken it, she just dusted around things. The only other person here had been Molly, but why would she take a sticky note with an address on it?

Unless...

No, that was absurd! Why would Molly hide something that big from him, _that _big. She wouldn't, would she?

Things began to circle in is mind and pieces slotted into place and John paced the room, looking at the note in his hand.

Well, there was only one way to solve this. He would go to the address.

xxx

The crowbar came down with a satisfying crunch and the man in front of Sherlock collapsed on the floor. The other two had already been seen to and were in similar positions to the third with what could be described as 'serious' head wounds but Sherlock didn't think so. It was nothing a short trip to casualty wouldn't sort out, if they didn't bleed out first.

He grinned at the now rather gory crowbar and pondered getting one for himself, it was quite a good weapon, and weighing it in his hands it felt good too. Light but able to put some power behind it, and able to do a little more damage than his riding crop.

Molly was whimpering in a corner, her hands tied and bruises beginning to form on her face and arms. There would probably be more elsewhere he couldn't see.

"please." she begged, "please don't hurt me. I haven't done anything I was just looking for a friend and I ended up here I swear." she held out her bound hands as if to protect herself. Sherlock was puzzled, right up to the point when he realised she wasn't making eye contact with him. The only light was coming from the door behind him, so naturally she couldn't see his face.

He fell to his knees and began to untie her.

"you should of called me." he said as he teased the knot with his long fingers and the rope loosened.

"Sherlock? Is that really you?" she still couldn't see his face obviously.

"of course it's me. Who else would it be?" the rope came away completely and Molly burst into tears. Sherlock helped her up and took a tissue out of his coat pocket.

"it's alright. Everything's going to be alright." he comforted as he steered her out the room. Dave was where he had left him, and as they went passed Sherlock kicked him.

"just for good measure." he said in answer to Molly's questioning look. They walked out into the winter sun and Sherlock could see that the bruises extended beyond where Molly's clothes hid them.

He turned to face her and looked in her eyes. "are you alright?" he asked.

"um, fine. Just a bit shaken up that's all." she did not look fine.

"did you have anything with you?" Sherlock put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down.

"um, my bag I suppose. And my coat." she seemed dazed and confused, but that was to be expected in the circumstances.

"wait here." he said and grinned at her, spun round and waltzed back into the shop with the bloodied crowbar he was still holding slung over his shoulder.

Molly winced as the sound of crunching and groaning came from the shop, followed by some crashing noises. Sherlock returned two minutes later triumphantly holding her handbag aloft, with what looked like a smattering of fresh blood on his face.

"no coat I'm afraid. I could go and look longer but I presumed you wanted to get moving. In the meantime you can wear mine." he shrugged of his coat and held it out for her to put it on. She gratefully obliged. She was freezing. Sherlock put his arm round her and steered her off in the direction of his home. He looked a little odd, wearing his scarf and carrying her bag. She thought he stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe he should wear a hoodie and jeans halfway down his arse. She snorted.

"what?" Sherlock looked down at her, confusion in his eyes.

"nothing. I was just thinking how you didn't blend in here and that maybe you should get a hoodie and jeans and dress up like the teenagers round here. It was a funny mental image." she cringed.

"hmm. I had the same thought today myself." he said nonchalantly, staring into the middle distance as they turned a corner into a more derelict part of town.

"really?

"oh yes. Think I could pull it off?"

"if anyone could you could. Speaking of which, how did you get your coat back from Baker street?"

"I didn't."

"then what the hell am I wearing?" she looked down at the sleeves. Defiantly the same. Black corduroy.

"I bought a new one." he said, as if it were obvious.

"exactly the same as the one you already have?" Molly looked at him as if he were mad.

"yes." now it was his turn to look as if she were barking.

"why?"

"god you ask a lot of questions, you know that?" he looked slightly irked so she shut up.

They walked in silence for the next few minutes until Sherlock stopped in front of a huge door. It looked like it was rotted on the inside but it still held fast. Sherlock braced himself against the door and shoved with his shoulder. It didn't budge. He tried a couple more times and then it eventually opened.

"stand exactly where I stand. The stairs are a little changeable."

"Changeable?" asked Molly.

"Keep an eye on the stairs, they like to fall out from beneath you."

"Right..." said Molly. It seemed an odd thing to say until she looked up at the stairs. They seemed to be held up by the grace of God alone. Quite a few were missing.

Sherlock looked down at her slightly paler face. "it's fine, the ones that are there are strong. If they can hold big Dave they can hold you." he set off at a quick pace and Molly followed closely behind, afraid that if she fell behind she would miss something important and fall to her death.

The stairs were narrow and the bannister was missing in some places,so naturally Molly didn't trust it. Every time they turned a corner to go up another set she would snatch glimpses of the warren of corridors that led off from the main stairs. The place looked deserted but Molly couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched, and the fact that Sherlock picked up speed every time they reached the top of a staircase didn't help her nerves.

The two repeated the exercise of up and round up and round four times before they reached a floor that had no up staircase. Molly was just catching her breath from the long and arduous clim when sherlock spun round and marched down a corridor.

"come on Molly." he chastised over his shoulder as his shadow began to fade into the gloom. She ran after him. The last place she wanted to end up alone was here. There was no knowing what was in the shadows.

They walked on about twenty paces when Sherlock stopped in front of a door. Thank god, she thought, finally here. Sherlock looked down at her and tittered, opening the door to reveal... Another set of stairs. Molly sighed loudly. These ones were even narrower and steeper than the last lot. They had panels on either side of them, like you would have in an old farm house or an attic. Sherlock's shoulders brushed on either side as he walked up. Every step protested loudly on his assent. "don't worry." he said to her on the sixth step, turning round as best he could to look at her, "they make a lot of noise but they're sound." Molly made a face but went up after him. She looked spent, Sherlock decided as he made his way to the top step and opened the door to his room. "here we are" he said cheerfully. Molly's sigh was audible again behind him, only this time it was one of relief. She stood in the doorway, clearly shocked by how dilapidated it was despite her tiredness. She looked like she was about to collapse.

"here," he said, "sit down." he pushed out a chair for her and she willingly collapsed into it.

"tea?" he asked, filling an old kettle from the bowl and putting it on the camping stove, nearly burning his fingers as he lit it.

"please"

"sugar?"

"one please. But you knew that."

"did I?" he had his back to her so she couldn't see his sly smile as he put tea bags into two chipped and stained mugs.

"yes, you did."

"fine, you got me. You hungry?"

"starving"

"you look it" he said as he turned round. There were dark circles under her eyes, clearly she was under a lot of stress. She was scared. She kept looking round and wouldn't make eye contact with him. Maybe she thought he wouldn't see her guilt if she didn't, but he could see it. It was plastered all over her face and probably had a lot to do with why she looked so jumpy. He had to feed her, that would gain her trust and calm her down. The only issue was he hardly ever had food. "let's see..." he said looking through the cupboard "jam!" he pulled the jar out triumphantly like a hunter bringing back food for his family.

"jam?" Molly didn't seem so impressed.

"um, well yes. Jam." he looked at the jar again as if it held the secrets to his culinary conundrum. "I might have some bread somewhere." he put the jam on the table and went behind his curtain into his bedroom. There were shuffling sounds as Molly sat and waited and the occasional swear word when a "Hussah!" came from behind the drape and Sherlock appeared with a slightly squashed half loaf of White sliced bread.

"where was that?" Molly asked, curious as to the reason there was an oblong shape that matched Sherlock's shoes in the side of the bread.

"under my bed. It's dry there so it won't go mouldy." he gave by way of explanation.

"oh, alright then."

"I stood in it at at one point."

"I gathered."

"good. So.. Jam sandwiches then. There's a knife round here somewhere. Oh look the kettles boiled." he rushed over to the hob and took off the kettle, pouring the water into the waiting mugs. He got the milk out of the cold cupboard, looked at it, sniffed it, drank a little, gagged and put it back in.

"have to be black I'm afraid."

Molly laughed to herself, "I see living on your own hasn't improved your hosting skills" good, he thought. She was laughing, and the light had come back to her eyes. She wasn't so jumpy. He hadn't even fed her and already she had calmed down.

"I don't often get guests." he gave her her tea and proceeded in launching himself under the table with as much energy as when he had a case. His head then popped out the other side and the rest of his body followed, his hand clutching a slightly fluffy knife.

"your going to clean that first aren't you?" Molly said pointing at the knife.

Sherlock snorted, "of course. I'm not stupid." thank god she said something, normally he just would of picked the fluff off and it would of been fine, water was so precious he rarely used it.

He spread the jam evenly over the bread and placed another on top, cutting the sandwiches into triangles.

"um, I don't have a plate." he said, holding the slightly sagging sandwich whilst looking around for something suitable to put it on.

"that's fine, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

Unlikely, he thought but he shrugged and gave her the sandwich, which she proceeded to demolish very quickly. He made himself one and bought the bread, his tea, the jam and the not so fluffy knife over to the table and sat opposite her.

He looked at her properly now, the bruises seemed to be getting worse under his watchful gaze. He wasn't sure how badly she was hurt, he had to know though, he had been on the fence about handing Dave in for years now, and this might just push him over the edge.

"take off your top." he said

"what?!"

"take off your top." his face was completely dead pan, like he'd just asked her to pass the salt.

"why?"

"I need to see your bruising. You never know you might have broken something, your still in shock."

"um, alright." she began to awkwardly remove Sherlock's coat. "I can't do it when your watching me like that!" she yelled at him.

"like what?" he protested.

"your leaning across the table like I'm about to do a strip tease for you!"

"really? Me? You do know Moriarty called me 'the Virgin' don't you?"

"oh, that does make me feel a bit bette- What really?"

"what?"

"you've never..."

"no."

"never?"

"never."

"never ever?"

"never ever."

"but surely you must of had like, fantasies.."

"NO." he interrupted, "not even a wet dream."

"really?"

He sighed "just take off your top. Please. And stop asking questions about my nonexistent sexual past."

**I do feel a little sorry for Molly, being beaten up, poor dear. I couldn't resist putting the whole virgin thing in and the fluffy knife. thoughts?**


	9. Chapter 9

John had gone to the address without delay. He wasn't entirely sure where it was so he went to the cafe first to see if Sherlock would turn up. He was going mad, he thought, his therapist would have a fit if she knew he was here, looking for a dead man. He still wasn't sure if this was his mind trying to convince himself that Sherlock was alive. But how could it be possible? He had seen Sherlock fall, had seen the body, the coffin... Or had he? He had been concussed when Sherlock fell, he couldn't see straight. And the funeral had been closed casket. Mycroft had identified the body as next of kin, and it was whisked away so quickly that he had barely seen it. And he had purposely avoided staring into the vacant, icy eyes.

He shook himself from his stupor and looked around at the café again. No sign of the lanky detective. Most of the people in here had dead eyes, and hoodies. And anyone under the age of twenty five had their trousers halfway round their arse. Sherlock would stick out like a sore thumb.

The waitress came up to him again with a notepad and a sour face.

"what you havin'?" she chewed gum like a cow chewed the cud. Round and round in her mouth. It was almost mesmerising.

"what? Err, nothing thanks."

"there are other people here that want a seat you know." she scowled at him. The place was only half full but people were starting to look at him.

John shifted and looked at his menu. "I'll, err,have a coffee thanks."

"just a coffee?"

"and a biscuit?" he questioned. He wasn't sure if they served them or whether it was a good idea to eat here, it didn't look that clean.

"cookie."

"cookie. I'll have a cookie and a coffee."

"fine then." and she walked off, chewing her gum really loudly as she went.

Some men came in then, talking amongst themselves and slid in to the table next to John.

"I'm telling you" said the bigger one with a black eye, "that girl means something to him. I saw him sprinting past me when I was getting fags, right into dave's place."

John leaned in to try and listen better, this was interesting.

"are you sure it was Sherlock?" said another. Sherlock? John was defiantly interested now.

"defiantly. Tall, gangly, sprinting like the hounds of hell were after him. It was defiantly because of the girl. He's probably still there now, I came straight here after I saw him running." John got up and put on his coat. But he didn't know where he was going. Shit. He couldn't sit down now, the men would know he had been listening.

"I don't think Dave will find him much trouble. I mean, he's big Dave for crying out loud. He knows too many of Sherlock's secrets." big Dave. He sounded familiar. Yes, he and Sherlock had gone there a couple of times for information. He thought he could remember where he was going. A mechanics down near a newsagents. John walked out the door just as the waitress came by with his coffee and inedible looking cookie.

"can't stop now," he said as he rushed by her "train to catch."

She tried to protest but he was already out the door. It swung shut on her loud sigh. He ran round the corner and found the newsagents and a little further on a mechanics that he recognised as big Dave's.

He stopped. What was he going to do now. If Sherlock wasn't there and he rushed in he would look an idiot, and if he was what would he say? How would he tell him how lost he felt when Sherlock fell.

Just then two people came out of the building. A man and a woman. He was tall and lanky, with a black great coat and a scarf. She was short with mousey hair, bruises and a rabbit caught in the headlights look. She was Molly, and he was Sherlock.

Johns heart ripped in two.

Not only was his best friend still alive but his girlfriend was keeping it from him. And the two were out gallivanting in broad daylight.

Through his tears John could see sherlock lean in and talk to Molly, and then waltz back into the mechanics with what looked like a bloody crowbar slung over his shoulder.

John considered walking up and confronting her and started in that direction when Sherlock came out again, with more blood on his face. He had another short conversation with her and gave her his coat whilst he carried her handbag.

That was a very boyfriend thing to do, carry a handbag and give her a coat. Sherlock was nearly always cold. It was because he was so skinny that he nearly always had a coat and scarf on.

He still had his scarf on when he took her hand and led her away. John didn't know what to do. They were leaving, together, looking like a happy couple. His girlfriend and his best friend. His dead best friend. That was just weird.

There was only one thing he could do. Follow them. He stayed a few paces back as Sherlock put his arm round her and the rip in john's heart became bigger. It wasn't a clean cut, and burned as the two of them got closer together the further along they went. Of course, it could just be that sherlock was just concerned for her safety and he wanted to keep her close to prevent her coming close to danger. She looked rather bedraggled and what he could see of her skin was covered in bruises. They stopped outside a massive door and John ducked inside a doorway on the opposite side of the alley. He could hear their voices but couldn't make out the words. There was a banging sound as Sherlock bashed against the door and the two of them went in. John wondered whether he should follow them but the door swung shut before he could slip in. They would hear if he opened the door now, and probably look round to see him. He would wait, no matter how long it took, until one of them came out.

John looked at his watch again. Only twenty minutes had gone past but he almost couldn't wait any longer. His mind was tormenting him with images of Sherlock taking off Molly's clothes and running his long fingers all over her. He was smiling as she moaned his name and he traced his lips all over her neck then down to her breasts, just as John had done the night before. Had it only been the night before? The night before when everything seemed to be starting to go right again. And now this. This, betrayal. This heartless betrayal by the two people he loved most in the world.

John roared with fury. Stuff waiting, the images in his head were torture. He was going to find them.

He marched over to the door and shoved his weight against it as Sherlock had done. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. He was so angry now that he shoved so hard that the door opened with ease, sending him flying into the hallway. He landed on his front and his face hit the floor. He groaned and looked up. All there was in the dingy room was a flight of stairs. He got up, brushed himself off and proceeded to ascend them.

He was on the third step when it began to crack and split and he had to jump onto the next one to stop his foot falling through it.

He let his heart slow and continued, going more carefully this time. At the top of the stairs he was confronted with two corridors and another set of stairs. The corridors were dark and long, and the shadows within them seemed to shift as he looked at them. The stairs, though unstable looking, looked far friendlier and he continued to climb. They still creaked, though not loudly enough for them to hear him it seemed, they were so wrapped up in their conversation. He looked at his watch, he had only taken five minutes to climb all the way up here, not long at all really. He reached the top step and listened at the door. He could hear Sherlock's low tone and Molly's high pitched voice. She laughed. It was a beautiful sound. He laughed too. John had never really heard him laugh. When he did it was normally silent, and his shoulders shook as he convulsed under fits of them. But never a sound, never.

A chair scrapped back as one of them got up and walked around.

"how about here?" Sherlock was asking

"um, a little. I'm not really sure"

"your not sure?"

"no."

"well, here?"

"no, not really."

"oh for crying out loud I need to take this off I can't touch you properly."

John gagged. What were they talking about? The images flared up in his mind again but he pushed them back and carried on listening.

"fine, you have already seen me naked I suppose." John bit his fist to stop him from crying out and his vision blurred through tears that fell down his cheeks. He carried on listening, there was every chance that he could be mistaken. He was mistaken, he had to be.

"what on earth...?" Sherlock asked her.

"it's hooks Sherlock. You really aren't very experienced are you?" John could hear the smile in her voice

"well how do you take it off?"

"like this."

"and you can do that without looking?"

"well I have done it everyday since I was twelve."

"twelve?"

"early developer."

"oh. Okay. Turn around then let's have a proper look... Oh Molly..."

That was it. The final straw. John burst into the room to find Molly with no shirt on, covered in bruises and being held in Sherlocks arms, who was staring at her boobs. They were so close it made him feel sick. They both looked up to see him, horror etched on their faces.

"how could you!" John yelled at them, "how could you do this to me?!" tears were streaming down his face. He was angry that he was crying, angry that he cared so much about them.

"John, please, if you could just listen and I could explain,"

"explain! What's there to explain Sherlock? You died! You died and you left me and now your fucking my girlfriend!"

"what are you talking about John? We're not together."

"oh please Sherlock how stupid do you think I am? I've been waiting out there for ages, I heard everything!"

"John it's not what you think. Please, just let me explain."

"no Sherlock! I won't hear your lies, I found your coat! At the flat. How often do you go home Sherlock, is that why Molly's been over so much, so you two can have a little rendezvous while I'm asleep? God you make me sick, both of you!" he turned to leave but Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"you can't leave, not until I explain. The moment you walk out the door you are in extreme danger, that's why I stayed away, to keep you safe."

"A likely story Sherlock. You really expect me to believe that after all your sneaking around and You." he pointed at Molly "I trusted you. I let you into my life. I loved you!" molly just looked away, shame faced. She had put her clothes back on but she felt completely naked. Laid bare from what he said. She loved him so much she did. but how could she tell him?

"you can't even look me in the eye Molly. You know, I've had some pretty rubbish relationships but I've never been screwed over like this" he shook off Sherlock and stormed out the room, leaving the two of them in the casam of silence that was left.

"what do you mean?" Molly whispered

"what?" Sherlock whipped round to look at her.

"what do you mean, he's in extreme danger?"

"Moriarty's men are still after me. If they know that John knows I'm still alive, and I wager they will, by the time he gets home they _will _kill him."

"no! You can't let him die! Your his friend! His best friend!" Molly screamed at him. She looked like she was about to hit him with the saucepan.

Sherlock put his hands up to defend himself, "I don't intend to. And could you put that down I really don't like people wielding kitchen utensils."

Molly put it down but still looked angry, "well. What do you suppose we do?"

"we?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "'we' are doing nothing. You are going to stay here until I get back and I am going to make sure John doesn't get murdered." Sherlock took his coat off the back of the chair and his scarf and went to the door.

"wait!" Molly shouted, "what am I supposed to do until you get back?"

"I don't know." Sherlock shrugged, "I'm sure you can entertain yourself for an hour or two. And I'm right here. Literally three feet away from you. You don't need to shout."

"but," she started but he was already gone.


	10. Chapter 10

There was one person Sherlock could call, he thought as he scouted out the area outside his building for any sign of John. miss Adler. She'd know where to look for him. John knew what to do if he didn't want to be found. But chances are the people tracking him would be professionals. He got out his phone and dialled the only number in his call log.

It took three rings before she picked up

"hello handsome." came the husky voice down the phone, "what can I do for you?"

He could sense the smile in her voice, he knew she would be twiddling her hair as she spoke to him, but that knowledge didn't help now.

"John knows." he said.

There was a pause and Sherlock held his breath until, "how much does he know?" came tentatively down the phone.

"too much. He knows I'm alive but he thinks I'm sleeping with Molly."

"what?! How did that happen?"

"umm, not sure really. I was checking for bruises and he took it out of all proportion. Anyway that doesn't matter he _knows. _And now Moriarty's men will be after him. I need you Irene." he never called her Irene. He knew that would get to her.

"fine. What do you need?" he smiled and began to walk down the alley, telling her exactly what to do.

John got on the tube, no taxis would go to that part of town, and turned round. He looked across the platform. No one out of the ordinary, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He was still fuming. He kept his anger at the surface, if he didn't he would just break down and cry. And that would just be really awkward for everyone in the vicinity. A grown man crying on the tube would just be.. Eugh, his skin crawled at the thought of it. Everyone staring, not knowing whether to comfort or call the priory.

John looked at his watch, the seconds slowly ticking past and the stations seeming to crawl past despite the fact that it was probably the quickest way of getting around. John swung his arms trying to hide a feeling of nervousness and panic building in his stomach and then remembered that he was on a moving train and clung on to the pole. The lights suddenly flickered on and off, making him jump, and out the corner of his eye he saw a shadow pass across a wall. He coughed to clear his throat. No one else seemed to be ill at ease, he was being paranoid. But Sherlock's warning kept rising through his mind 'the moment you walk out that door you are in extreme danger'. But he had just said that to make him stay, hadn't he?

He was certain he had covered his tracks. He could not be followed when he really wanted to, and Sherlock was probably having a lovely time with Molly. His blood boiled at the conversation he overheard, if he hadn't burst in then they would of started doing things that 'friends' did not do.

The train finally stopped at Baker street and John got off. He still couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched as he walked up the steps to the surface.

A man that had been lurking in the shadows close the entrance slipped out of the darkness and followed him.


	11. Chapter 11

Irene had done exactly as Sherlock had said. She had waited outside the tube station for John to turn up and followed him. Only issue was she didn't seem to be the only one doing so. A tall man in a long coat with the collar turned up was taking an interest in him. He hadn't noticed her, neither had John. She had to take him out before John noticed either of them. Her phone vibrated in her handbag. Sherlock's face came up on the screen.

"he's being followed." she said "where are you?"

"I'm not far away. Stay close by him."

"I can't see you anywhere."

"don't worry, I'll be there soon."

"he can't see me. If he does he'll just take it as another betrayal from you."

"no he won't."

"says the virgin." she smiled

"what does that have to do with anything?"

"a man your age that has abstained without some kind of oath lacks a certain social skill don't you think?"

"is this about me not sleeping with you?"

"no. This is about you being a sociopath and unable to understand human nature. Trust me."

"why would I trust you?"

"when have I ever caused you to mistrust me?"

"do you want it chronologically or alphabetically?"

"touché." of course he could list them. He never forgot anything. Except that the earth orbits the sun. But that wasn't of any real importance was it.

John was at the flat now, putting his keys in the door. The man ducked into the cafe and she followed him. John looked over at her but she kept on going.

"shit!" she said down the phone.

"what?" came Sherlock's voice from the other side.

"he's seen me!"

"are you sure?" he sounded slightly panicked now. Maybe he was listening to her advice.

"sure."

"don't look at him."

"I'm not! I've gone into the café."

"sit at a table that faces the door."

"how stupid do you think I am?" they sounded like a married couple. Hmm, that didn't sound too bad. Irene Holmes...

"Irene? You still there?" Sherlock bought her back to the now.

"um yes. Course I am."

"good. Keep an eye in the other person following him, okay? I'll be there soon." he hung up.

Well, thought Irene, that was rude. She sat down in a table so that she could see the door to the flat and looked around for the man she had trailed here. He was nowhere to be found.


	12. Chapter 12

Molly had been here for half an hour. She had spent this time sobbing in the foetal position on the floor. John was going to die if Sherlock couldn't save him, and it was her fault. The man she loved with all her heart thought she was shagging his best friend. Her heart was wrenched in two, but her eyes had run out of tears. Her sobs had turned into hiccups and her legs had gone dead from spending too long curled up. She stretched out her legs and they creaked and spasmed in protest. She stood up and went to the table. There was still some jam and bread but she wasn't hungry. Her tea was still there. Cold, but she wasn't about to heat it up. The stove was still on, Sherlock mustn't of turned it off when he poured the tea. She went over to switch it off but the dial for the gas had come off. She stuck her finger in where it was and turned the little stick that was left over. It took a lot a manoeuvring but eventually the gas turned off and the blue flames by her head went dead. No wonder Sherlock hadn't turned it off, it took ages.

She stood up again and took in her surroundings. The place was squalid. The only furniture that was there was the table and two chairs. Molly thought it odd that Sherlock would have two chairs, he can't of entertained very much, what with him being dead and all. She walked behind the heavy drape to find a bed shoved up against the wall and a trunk with S.H. embossed on it. It looked like the sort of thing that you took to Hogwarts, but then it didn't really surprise her that Sherlock went to boarding school. He seemed to come from that kind of posh family.

A mental image of Sherlock in a Gryffindor uniform practicing spells flashed into her head. She couldn't help but laugh at it. The uniform was too small for him and his trousers only came down to his ankles.

It felt good to laugh. Even at a stupid mental image. She couldn't cry anymore.

She knelt by the trunk and opened it. It was filled with clothes, neatly folded. She didn't realise he had that many. He was nearly always in the same thing. There must be something underneath and if she was careful he'd never know. Molly felt a little guilty as she took Sherlock's clothes and laid them on the floor, she wasn't normally this nosy.

There were three layers of shirts, trousers and underwear. With some socks stuffed down the side. Underneath that was a toothbrush and toothpaste, some soap and a flannel with a hole in it. In the corner of it was a box. It was about the size of a shoe box. It looked really old and was covered in writing and photos. If she didn't know better she'd say it was Sherlock's memory box. But he didn't have that sort of thing. He didn't have a heart so why would he have a memory box? She held it in her hands. It felt so delicate, like it _was_ Sherlock's heart. It was like her own pandoras box. She didn't even realise she was opening it. It was filled with polaroids. She took one out and was looking at a little boy wearing a pair of brown shorts in a river, triumphantly holding up a net with something in it to the camera. He had black hair in ringlets and big blue eyes. Underneath was written "Sherlock, aged four" in swirly handwriting that was much like Sherlock's but more female.

She took out another one, this time with two boys in. The younger she recognised as Sherlock wearing a silly Santa hat and sitting on the lap of the older boy who was smiling down at him and reading him what looked like 'a Christmas Carol' to him. The older boy had brown hair and a round face and was wearing a jumper that matched little Sherlock's. Underneath that was written "Christmas. Sherlock and Mycroft. Aged three and eleven. Wearing Nanny's jumpers" Molly looked at the photo again. The two seemed so happy together. Sherlock looked like he adored his brother in that photo. She wondered what happened to make him hate Mycroft so much. It must of been really bad. The child here looked so happy.

There were loads more. Family snaps from over the years. "Sherlock and Mycroft", "Mycroft and Mummy", "Sherlock and Mummy". It felt wrong looking through it. This was Sherlock's most precious thing in the world probably and she was getting her grubby hands all over it. She was almost at the bottom when something sharp nicked her finger. She swore and sucked her finger, taking out the other photos and looking in the box to find what cut her. A syringe was nestled against the family snaps, with a strap that was probably used as a tourniquet and a vile of something that looked far less than legal next to it. Molly knew enough of Sherlock's past and had seen enough drug addicts come into the morgue to know exactly what it was.

How could he? How could he do this? she thought he was clean, he had been for years. But then, he didn't have anyone and no cases to stop him being bored, so why wouldn't he? She supposed if she had a brain like his she would do anything to make it shut up. So she couldn't really blame him. But still. He knew it would kill him, he wasn't stupid. And the fact that he kept it with his childhood memories was just, just, _wrong_.

She had to do something about this, she had to confront Sherlock when he got back.

The boy in these photos looked so happy. She looked at the evidence of what the man did and wondered what had gone wrong. This man that she'd had a stupid schoolgirl crush on for ages was just showing her all these new levels to him that she never knew he had. She doubted anyone knew he had them.

There was one last photo in the box. It was of a woman in an evening gown and she was stunning. Probably the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Underneath and written in what she recognised as Sherlock's handwriting was the word "Mummy". The photo was smudged in circles that were obviously tear stains.

And all of a sudden more tears sprang into her eyes. And she wept. Silently. For the boy that wasn't there anymore, for the man that was lost in his soul and for the mother he still mourned for. Her tears slid down her cheeks and hit the woman's face, running off the photographic paper. It looked like she was crying too. Molly wiped her cheeks and sniffed, then began to clear away the photos. Sherlock would be angry if he came back and found her, and she was so tired she didn't have the energy to be shouted at. She put the box back in the trunk and the clothes back on top of it carefully and looked around the room again. Sherlocks bed was still there. It looked incredibly inviting. God she must be tired that thing was disgusting. It was probably infested with something but her feet were taking her there and without her realising she had crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds.

**Poor Molly. It gets better honest.**


	13. Chapter 13

John chucked his keys onto the table, sat down in his chair and burst into tears. All the emotion that he had suppressed on the journey home came flooding up from a place inside him that was broken. He sat and sobbed for what seemed like forever until his tears had dried by themselves at which point he got up, sniffing, and took in his surroundings. The place seemed so familiar and yet so alien. All of his things were still here. All of that _bastards_ stuff. Clogging up his flat, his life. And all of a sudden John was angrier than he had ever been. He picked up some of Sherlock's files and ripped them up. Confetti showered down from above as he got more paper with Sherlock's writing on it and ripped it up too. He started laughing hysterically as he took Sherlock's favourite mug and hurled it across the room. Then he got his equipment from underneath the sink and threw that as well. Breaking things felt good. It felt really good. He moved on to that ridiculous harpoon next. That took a good five minutes to destroy. Johns heart was pumping and he was breathing hard when he spied it.

The violin.

Sherlock's prize possession. Just lying there, all smug and clever. He bet it knew about it's masters betrayal. He bet it laughed at him every night when he went to bed with Molly. Well, he would soon put a stop to that. He marched over to where the violin sat and opened it's case. Smug instrument. John sneered at it and lifted it by the neck, over his head and.. Stopped. He couldn't. That would be too much. John lowered it and carefully put it back in its case.

He was just about to shut it when a huge and greasy hand clamped over his airways.

Where the hell was that man? And where the hell was Sherlock? He had said he wasn't far away but that was over fifteen minutes ago and anything could of happened by now.

Irene had quickly left the cafe at the disappearance of the man in the overcoat and had scouted the street. Nowhere. She had then gone into the alleys adjoining the street but he wasn't there either. Seriously had this man just vanished into thin air or what? She walked past 221B again and her face paled. The door was hanging open and had obviously been forced. She rushed up the stairs to the door and heard glass breaking inside. She ran up the stairs and stopped. The man was there, on the stairs. Waiting to pounce on his prey.

He heard her and turned. Now she was facing him she recognised him. Her blood ran cold and she froze, helpless to do anything as he picked her up and threw her down the stairs. The last thing she saw was his smiling face as her head collided with the floor with an unhealthy crunch.

Delays on the tube had caused Sherlock to get off two stops early and run the rest of the way to baker street. No mean feat, even with his short cuts.

When he got there panting the door was wide open and the locks had been broken. He ran in to find Irene on the floor, blood pouring from a gash in her head and trying to get up. He crouched by her and held her head in his arms.

"where the hell were you?" she managed to say. Her eyes were unable to focus, at best she had a bad concussion.

"issues with the tube. Are you alright?" he asked urgently, blue eyes piercing her own and making her focus.

"I'll be fine," she slurred "go and help John." Sherlock was just getting up when she grabbed his sleeve. "it's, worse than we thought. It's Albert."

"Albert?" he said confused.

"Albert! He's up there now! Help him Sherlock, help John!" the grip on Sherlock's sleeve went limp as she swam in and out of consciousness.

Sherlock laid her gently back on the floor and ran up the stairs as it clicked who she was talking about.

Albert, one of Moriarty's best hit men. Completely deadly and almost inhumanly strong. Not good.

Sherlock burst into the flat to find John having his airways cut off in a Golem-esq style by Albert, who was probably twice the size of the little man. Sherlock seized the first thing that came to had - a bit of broken harpoon - and sunk it into he bigger mans thigh. He cried out and dropped John who fell on the floor gasping and then lunged for Sherlock. He dodged but not quick enough and Albert fell on him like a ton of bricks. His head hit the floor and the mans smelly chest smashed into his face as he fell on top of him. Hands went round Sherlock's skinny neck and air was hard to come by. His vision blurred and his hands groped for something, anything, to get this man off him. His hand gripped something and he hit the man on top of him in the temple. He hit the eye but it did the trick. Albert clutched his face as blood came pouring out of his face and he rolled off Sherlock. He inspected his weapon and found he was holding a mug handle. Strange.

A groan came from John and Sherlock crawled over to him.

"alright?" Sherlock asked in a husky voice

"huh" was all John could muster and the two started laughing despite themselves.

"told you so." Sherlock said before he was dragged out of john's vision by Albert clamping onto his leg and smashed his head against the floor, knocking him out cold. John tried to stand up but the other man was too fast and all of a sudden his face was pressed against the floor and an intolerable strain was put on his back. He tried to shout in pain but the floorboards stifled it. The pain was becoming too much and he was loosing consciousness when the pain subsided with a clunk and he was suddenly able to move and lift his head. He lay there for a moment, face down, presuming Sherlock was dealing with the man but the grunts of strain were far too high pitched to be the detectives. John rolled over to find a woman that looked strangely like Irene Adler hitting the big man with the medieval shield Sherlock had acquired during a case repeatedly across the head.

Sirens could be heard faintly in the background as John watched this woman beat the shit out of this guy when she lost her footing and the man took advantage and jumped on top of her, punching her repeatedly in the face. Sherlock seemed to of regained consciousness and thwaked him across the neck with the sharp edge of the shield. Blood spurted out of the mans neck and he went limp. John breathed out, relived and Sherlock made eye contact with him in conformation that the attacker was dead and John let himself slip into darkness. He could of sworn he heard lestrade shouting up the stairs but blackness had enveloped him before he could question anything.


	14. Chapter 14

Molly woke with a start. It was dark and there was a man standing above her.

"sherlock..?" she managed, mind still groggy from sleep.

"afraid not Miss Hooper. Get up, your coming with me." he turned to leave, swinging what looked like a walking stick by his side.

"who are you?" she said, hurrying to stand and follow him out the room.

He turned to face her. She couldn't see his face, he was just a shadow but she still felt his eyes pierce into her own. "you follow me, yet you don't know who I am. Given the current situation that seems a bit foolish, don't you think?"

"um... Well.. Maybe a little but-"

"but? You can't see my face, how do you know you can trust me if you can't even see my face?" it was a logical question, one Molly didn't really have an answer to.

"um.. I just know." she said, frowning up at him.

"hmm." he smiled "mummy always used to say a woman's intuition is far better than any man's deduction." wait, mummy? What kind of grown man calls his mum mummy? Sherlock, that was who. This man reminded Molly of him a lot.

He opened the drape and the moonlight from the only window fell on him. He had brown hair, a three piece suit and what she thought was a walking stick was actually an umbrella.

"are you Mycroft Holmes?" she asked. He turned back to face her with a small smile playing on his lips.

"well done." he said "how did you deduce that?"

"um, well.." she began, squirming under his gaze, "John said you have an umbrella all the time and dress well and you just remind me of Sherlock."

"really, how so?" he seemed genuinely intrigued.

"just you mannerisms. And the fact you call your mum mummy."

"why's that so important?"

"no one calls their mum mummy."

"really?"

She gave him a look.

"fair enough. Come along Miss Hooper" he turned to leave properly this time and she followed, combing her hair with her fingers and trying to keep up as he silently descended the stairs. In fact, everything about him was silent. He was like a ghost, or a ninja. Molly supposed it had something to do with having Sherlock as a brother. Sherlock always commanded whatever room he was in. It must be hard having such a charismatic brother, she thought it must be easy to fade into the background.

But then, Mycroft also had a persona about him. Not quite as easy to place as Sherlock's obvious charm (when he wanted to be), but there was something about the man next to her, like a calm sea around him that made her trust him completely, and want to listen to what he said. He was a politician wasn't he? That must be useful.

They got out of the building and he headed towards a parked car. He turned to look at her and opened the door.

"come along Miss Hooper." she got in the car and he walked round to the other side.

"um.." she said, looking round at the plush interior, "where are we going?"

"st. Bartholomew's. I believe you are acquainted with the place."

"your taking me to work?"

"no, I'm taking you to visit some friends."

She paled "what," she started, her voice unable to rise above a whisper, "what happened?"

He looked at her and patted her knee consolingly. "there's no need to worry now, they'll recover. They just had a slight run in with one of the most notorious hit men in Europe."

He smiled and turned turned to look out of the window. Molly gulped and tried not to panic as the car sped off through the streets.

Sherlock was irked, and worried. But mostly irked. John had lost consciousness before Lestrade got there so he couldn't back Sherlock up that Albert had been trying to kill him. The detective inspector had then insisted on calling an ambulance which sherlock wholly agreed to, until he realised that it was for him as well. He probably would of won the argument that he was fine but he passed out half way through the conversation.

He woke up in the ambulance with an irritating paramedic trying to put a blanket round him. When they got to the hospital John and Irene had already arrived in an earlier ambulance and the paramedic tried to make him stay on the trolley and get wheeled in but Sherlock slapped him away and stormed in instead. Lestrade followed him and they had an argument about blood tests and concussions and blankets.

"I'm fine for crying out loud stop making me wear a blanket!"

"sit down Sherlock and wait for the doctor!" Lestrade pushed him back onto the bed in the examination room. They both looked round when the door opened and the doctor walked in. He looked twelve. Lestrade sighed. This boy was going to die. Three minutes later he ran out the room crying.

"well he was stupid." Sherlock crossed his arms, indignant.

"you just insulted and counteracted everything he said! And called him an idiot repeatedly!" Lestrade yelled at him.

The door opened again and an older doctor came in, took no nonsense and diagnosed concussion, a sprained wrist and three bruised ribs.

"well I could of told you that." said Sherlock as the doctor strapped a brace onto his wrist.

"I'm sure you could of done mr Holmes." the doctor said to his wrist. "there, all done. You can go and see your friends now."

Sherlock looked at Lestrade questioningly.

"what?" he asked.

"I presume I'm in your custody."

"no, why would you be?"

"where would you like me to start? You think I committed crimes to make myself look good, I faked my own death and I am the only conscious wittiness to a murder."

"oh right. Well, you can look after yourself and after Moriarty died Mycroft informed Scotland yard of what actually happened."

"did he?"

Lestrade nodded "the official line is that you had to go underground in order to hunt down the Moriarty gang. It's a good yarn."

"hmmm." Sherlock frowned at the floor, then looked up at the man with an intense expression, "did you think I'd done it?"

"done what?"

"staged those crimes in order to make myself look good?"

"not really. You do lots of things to make yourself look good, but you don't need to pretend to be brilliant. I've known you long enough to know that you see things differently. But also that you only seek the attention of those around you. The wider world and the press just don't interest you."

"you know me well."

"do I?"

Sherlock smiled, "it's an apt description. Looks like you can observe things. I must be rubbing off on you."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "come on, let's go and see John."

They walked out the room together and got directions to the ward that John was in.

"I was wondering Sherlock.."

"yes?"

"whose the woman? The one we found at Baker street?"

"ah" Sherlock smiled, "one of the most dangerous people in the world and the only woman to ever outsmart me."

Lestrade's eyes bulged, "really?... Wait, is she Irene Adler?"

"your still reading John's blog."

"I thought she was dead."

"you thought I was dead."

"did I?" the two men smiled as they took a right and entered the ward. There was police on the door.

"only a two bed ward... Is that really necessary?" Sherlock said, pointing to the guard on the door with his braced wrist.

"you can never be too careful. It was your brothers idea."

"Mycroft! What the hell has he been doing?" Sherlock stormed.

"he's the one that called us. Sorted everything out and came up with the line. It took a lot to convince Donovan that you were innocent."

"did she go that unattractive shade of purple?" asked Sherlock with a coy smile.

"I'd say it was more of a blue." the two men smiled at each other and then looked down at the body's lying next to each other and wired up to various beeping machines.

They looked awful. Irene had huge bandage around her head, her face varying colours of purple. She had a swelling over her left eye that would prevent her from opening it when she awoke. Sherlock looked up and down her slender body. Her arm was in a sling and her breathing was laboured, probably from what Sherlock presumed was a fall down the stairs.

John looked far worse. His face was also bruised but it looked like his jaw had been fractured and he was laying down horizontally on the bed whereas Irene had been propped up with the hydraulics. Sherlock checked the chart at the bottom of John's bed. Severe whip lash. Not to move until further tests have been taken.

Sherlock looked up and saw everyone in the room staring at him. He figured it was because he must be as beaten up as the other two. He felt sore all over and really tired. He must be coming down from the adrenaline rush. The room started to spin and he felt himself falling but Lestrade caught him, pulled up a chair and sat him in it before Sherlock could do anything else.

"you alright?" Lestrade asked, leaning down and looking into his eyes, a worried expression etched on his face.

"yes, just a bit light headed. Must be coming down from the adrenaline boost, it happens all the time-"

"no. Your crying Sherlock."

"what?" Sherlock put his hand to his face and bought it away again to find droplets on his fingertips. "oh, I, um.. didn't know I was.."

"Everybody out!" Lestrade yelled. Some of the officers began to protest but a death stare from him silenced their qualms. They all shuffled out one by one, each taking a longer-than-what-is-polite look at the disheveled Sherlock on their way past.

"there. Far too many people in here anyway." Lestrade said, walking over to the window and closing the vertical office blinds.

"thanks." Sherlock whispered.

"no problem. Half of them are just here to see if you were actually alive or not. Obviously we've made sure certain documents were signed to make sure people don't go to the press before we're ready."

Sherlock looked up and smiled at the other man. He was glad that Lestrade was in charge. He would go a long way. Smart man, knew how to handle people, a skill Sherlock was more than a little envious of.

The door burst open and in ran Molly, in hysterics. Lestrade was about to shout her out but was silenced by Mycroft following behind.

"Oh my god!" Molly cried, flinging herself onto john's bed, "I'm so sorry John, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry." she sobbed onto his chest.

"He's unconscious Molly." Sherlock said from his chair, a sad smile on his face.

"oh," she said, taking her head from John's chest and looking up at him. "oh, Sherlock you're crying." she got up and walked to him. She stood over him and got a tissue out of her pocket, drying his tears. He didn't know why but it just made more spring from his eyes. Sherlock took her hands and held them, "it's not your fault Molly, if anyone's it's mine, I made you keep that secret from him I gave you my address it was because of me that you got taken by big Dave. Look at you your covered in bruises." he frowned and looked down, shame faced.

"don't be like that Sherlock, please." Molly's lower lip quivered as she tried to hold back the tears. He got up and enveloped her in his arms as she sobbed into his coat. He rested his chin on the top of her head and looked over at Mycroft. His brother seemed slightly surprised at him but was hiding it under a smooth smile.

"I'm quite impressed Sherlock I must say. I didn't expect that kind of thing from you."

"what kind of thing?" Mycroft had said two sentences and he was already riled. Why was it his brother always had to push his buttons and annoy him. They were having a moment for crying out loud and Sherlock didn't get them very often. Mycroft was jealous. That had to be it. He never got moments.

John stirred from his bed and the two broke away, Sherlock going to one side and Molly going to the other.

"mnnmn." John's eyes flickered open and focused on Sherlock and Molly in turn.

"are you alright?" Molly asked timidly, tears forming in her eyes again.

"I'm fine." john's voice was cracking from lack of use.

Lestrade walked over, "you gave us quite a scare there John. What would we do without you. Someone needs to babysit Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at him, "I do not need a babysitter." he said indignantly.

"yes you do." Mycroft replied cooly, "and john's been doing very well."

"hold on," John said, looking at Lestrade, "why aren't you freaking out about Sherlock not being dead?"

"well um," Lestrade started, looking uncomfortable, "you've been out for a while and-"

"I briefed Lestrade about Sherlock for when it is time for it to be known that Sherlock is not dead." Mycroft answered coldly.

"did you know?" John asked his best friend in a quiet voice.

"no" he answered honestly, "I wanted as little people to know as possible. I only told Molly and Mycroft."

"yes, and I prepared for when you returned to the land of the living! Something you haven't even thought of." Mycroft replied, puffing out his chest like a self important bird.

"and that's not exactly true is it now Sherlock?" came a sensual voice from behind Sherlock. He looked round into the eyes of Irene, a coy smile playing on her lips. "hello handsome." she said as she tried to sit up. She winced in pain and Sherlock gently pushed her back down.

"I really wouldn't suggest moving, its not a great idea."

"I love how you look after me." she held his hand down on her chest and she began to breath deeply, chest rising and falling in an exaggerated way.

"I don't think I look after you that well. Besides, your perfectly capable at looking after yourself." he sat down on the bed next to her. John and Molly shared a look and Mycroft was trying to stifle his surprise to see a woman he was sure was dead flirting shamelessly with his younger brother. Something Sherlock seemed to be enjoying.

"oh but it's your timing!" Irene declared. "so impeccable. At the flat, at my house, at my execution.."

"so that's how you did it!" Mycroft exclaimed, "that's how you slipped from my grasp! You used my brother!" he was annoyed that he hadn't thought of it before. Sherlock had feelings for the woman, of course he would save her life.

Irene looked at Mycroft and then grinned. "did I really fall from your gaze? Did I really fall though the cracks in the ice mans armour?"

"he had John tell me you were on a witness protection scheme to spare my feelings."

"really?" she asked with enthusiasm, "and why would you need your feelings spared?" god she could be coy sometimes, Sherlock thought. But this was a game between the two of them, and he knew how to play. He looked directly at Mycroft and plastered a smug smile on his face, "he thought I had feelings for you."

"and don't you?" her hand was tracing up his chest now in a somewhat sensual way, annoyingly it was distracting him. He wasn't going to look at her, he was going to carry on making Mycroft feel stupid.

"I'd hardly be a very good sociopath if I did now then would I?"

"true." she said. She was planning something, he knew it. But he wasn't sure what.

"well, only one way to find out" and the hand that was tracing his chest suddenly grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to her waiting lips. Sherlock squirmed but he was completely stunned by what she was doing, her lips were wet and moulded to his nicely. Despite the fact that he couldn't breathe and there was a lot of moisture it wasn't overly _un_enjoyable. Almost too soon she let go and he pulled back, spluttering in amazement as he overbalanced and fell off the bed. A stunned silence followed until it was suddenly broken by John bursting out laughing. Molly followed suit with a stifled giggle behind her hands and Lestrade was belly laughing in no time. Mycroft just looked incredibly smug. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his brother, got up with as much pride as he could muster, glared at the woman and stalked out of the room, head held high.

Irene grinned after him "well, if experience is anything to go by, he quite enjoyed himself."


	15. Chapter 15

Molly found Sherlock in the men's two floors below John and Irene's ward.

"wrong toilets." he said as he looked up from the sink to find her waiting patiently in the mirror.

"Irene seems, um, your type." she said, looking down.

Sherlock turned to face her. "she is not my type because I don't _have_ a type. Alright?"

"if you insist." she smiled, but then her brow furrowed. "Doctor Scott said John has whiplash. He's referring him to a specialist."

"john's survived a lot worse than whiplash Molly." Sherlock tried to console, "I'm sure he'll be fine and back home in no time."

"thanks Sherlock. And so will you it seems." she smiled again. Molly did have a lovely smile.

"what?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"there's no point you being 'dead'" she said the word with air quotes. "not now anyway. The one person you were trying to protect has not only found out but has been seriously hurt."

Sherlock scoffed, "I'm sure it's not that serious. The doctor is probably just being dramatic."

Molly looked at him as if he was a child, "would you just shut up and listen to me?"

"yes Molly. Sorry Molly."

"good. Now. You are coming home with me tonight and the press conference will be when John has recovered and can walk again."

"um, alright?" he wasn't used to being told what to do, especially by little mousey Molly. She would be good for John, and for him he presumed.

"yes it is alright Sherlock. You also need to sort out your relationship with Irene."

Sherlock looked astounded, "why?"

Molly sighed in a way that a woman sighs when she's being asked stupid questions, "because, dear Sherlock, it is obvious that you have feelings for each other. Especially going by what happened earlier. Your like two teenagers, dancing round each other. Your a grown man Sherlock, act like one." she folded her arms for emphasis.

Sherlock looked down, "she's not good for me. She'll just use me."

"what like you use everyone else, including her?" Sherlock looked up, surprised by Molly's tone, "don't give me that look Sherlock she could of died today!"

"I don't know how to love Molly." he said in a quiet voice. Molly walked unto him and gave him a hug.

She cupped his face in her hands, "you love John don't you? You've got quite a bromance going on."

Sherlock looked down at her, "what the hell's a bromance?"

Molly laughed and stepped back, "it's when two men are so close that they are more than friends. But not, you know, together in a romantic way. Your like brothers."

"I don't get on with my brother."

Molly sighed again, "you know what I mean Sherlock."

A small smile played on his lips, "I think I do yeah."

"and I know that I'm just going to have to share John with you."

"nice of you to share. His other girlfriends didn't share."

"his other girlfriends didn't last."

The both grinned at each other then and started to giggle incessantly.

"come on." Sherlock said, "I suppose we should get you back to John."

"Sherlock..?" Molly said as he put his arm round her.

"yes Molly?" he smiled as he looked down at her.

"I don't know how to say this."

He stopped and frowned. "say what?"

"while I was at yours I kinda went through your stuff.." she squirmed in Sherlock's arms. He dropped it.

"ah. You found my syringe."

"yeah."

He smiled back down at her again, "don't worry, Molly. I'm not dependant. Besides, I'll be less bored now I can take on cases again."

"well good. Thats a relief. But you know if you do need to talk about it I'm always here."

"Thanks Molly." he put his arm back around her and they went back to the ward. Sherlock knew Molly wasn't going to let it go just like that but she was obviously too exhausted to make an argument.

After a long argument between the Holmes brothers for no apparent reason due to the fact that they wanted the same thing Sherlock and Molly said their goodbyes to the two in the beds and were snuck out the back entrance in order to stop any unwanted exposure on Sherlock's part. One of Mycroft's many agents drove the two back to Baker Street and Mrs Hudson let them in due to the fact that the locks had been changed while they were at the hospital. After a very lengthy cup of tea with the poor old woman and the constant reassurance that she was neither mad nor dreaming Molly and Sherlock were finally allowed to go up to 221B.

Sherlock looked down at Molly. "aren't you going to go home?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"I am home." she smiled back up at him. "John and I had the conversation while you were busy arguing with your brother and Lestrade was being corned by Irene."

"oh. So, it's just like that is it? Your just, moving in."

"yeah. I haven't really been home since John and I started dating and he's going to need someone to look after him when he gets discharged."

"I could look after him." Sherlock replied, annoyed that he was not considered old or sensible enough to look after his friend.

"it's not that I don't think you can." Molly said, patting his arm. "it's just that you will be very busy with not being dead."

"you know that sounds daft right?"

"you know what I mean. Want anything to eat?"

"I'm not sure mrs Hudson's been shopping.." Sherlock began but Molly just shot him a look.

"remember Sherlock you and John aren't the only people living here now and I am capable of looking after myself."

"I am capable of looking after myself! Why does everyone think I need to be babysat!" Sherlock scowled.

"now now Sherlock there's no need for that. Sit down and I'll make you some dinner. How does that sound?"

"I'm not hungry." he pouted and slumped onto the sofa.

"suit yourself. If you want anything just say so."

The sounds and smell of cooking filled the air as Sherlock laid down and entered his mind palace. He must of been there sometime going over the events of the past day as when he came back Molly was asleep in john's chair, the telly blaring at no one.

He smiled and carried her up the stairs, removing her shoes and tucking her into john's bed. He looked at his watch as he descended the stairs. Quarter past two. He flicked through the channels. Nothing good on, so turned the telly off. He sat there in the silence of his, John's and now molly's flat and grinned. His eyes rested again on the violin and he picked it up, held it at eye level and inspected it. "hello old friend." he said to it, "did you miss me?" and he picked it up and played what came to his head. It was the most beautiful music he had ever heard, full of sadness and joy. Upstairs Molly looked at the ceiling and smiled. Life would be good here with the detective and the doctor.


	16. Chapter 16

It took another two days for Irene to be discharged, and Mycroft took her directly into his custody. He had allowed Sherlock to visit her at Molly's request. Mycroft liked Molly, she would keep his brother under control and look after him in that maternal way that only a woman can accomplish. Sherlock went to where Irene was being held and they talked. About what he couldn't say but they talked for hours. When her minder came and said that their time was up Sherlock rose from the chair he was sitting in and said his goodbyes. Before he had could turn to leave however Irene grabbed his hand.

"he wants me to work for him." she looked up at him, desperation in her eyes.

"Mycroft? I can see why."

"why do you say that?" she still looked lost.

"because your very resourceful. You would be a good addition."

"to what Sherlock, his pets? His team of minions? I won't be beholden to him Sherlock I wont."

Sherlock looked down at the hand that still clasped his. "so don't." he said simply, "he can't own you."

"but how will I get out of here?" she really was upset. Sherlock thought this was very odd.

"you leave. He won't force you to stay if you don't want to. He won't torture you or execute you. But if you did stay you would have his protection from your other, um, less honourable clients."

"you think he's honourable?" her grip loosened.

"yes. I may not like him overly much but I can't deny he has a stupidly precise moral compass."

"so he wouldn't hurt me?" her face seemed to relax as she heard the words.

"no. Not unless you do something really stupid." Sherlock glanced at the minder who was looking a little peeved at being kept waiting.

Irene stood up. "really stupid.." she said, a coy smile playing in her lips. "like.. This" and she pulled him into a rough embrace and kissed him again. This was becoming a habit of hers, Sherlock thought, as their lips moulded together. But one he could probably get used too.

He reacted far better when they broke off this time. Instead of falling over he remained where he was, if taking a small step back, smiled and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"goodbye Irene." he said and he kissed her cheek and walked out of the room, leaving her the one to be utterly flabbergasted.

He smiled as he walked beside the minder. No one made him look like a fool twice.

It was a further week before John was allowed out and even then he wasn't allowed to strain himself by doing things like walking down stairs or cook or walk to the fridge.

Molly took the time off work and gave Sherlock very strict instructions that he was not allowed to mess the place up or conduct experiments or take up the sofa as that was where John would be situated until he had recovered. Sherlock had sulked but Molly had ignored him and managed, in just the week or so of living there, to make the place more homely. It was nice, Sherlock thought, Molly reminded him very much of mummy in the way she pottered around, putting flowers on the table and cooking every night instead of ordering take away like Sherlock and John normally did. So Sherlock didn't sulk long but when Molly went to collect John by herself as he was still dead, he couldn't help but pace the room. He was worried about what would happen in the taxi back. What if the taxicab was an idiot and took them a way with loads of potholes and John got more hurt and ended up breaking his back and-

"come on John, not far now." Molly's sing song voice came from down the stairs.

"who'd have thought getting up these stairs would be so hard." John panted. Sherlock could hear the pain in his voice.

He ran down the stairs to see Molly supporting John halfway up the stairs. John looked up and grinned up at his best friend.

"good to see you." he said, but then his face contorted in pain. Sherlock rushed down to help and put John's arm round his shoulders as Molly did the same with his other arm and they hefted him up the stairs. Molly wasn't as strong as Sherlock so in the end he just carried John up by himself and gently put him down on the sofa.

"thanks" John grunted as Sherlock let go.

"how about some tea?" Molly asked the two of them. She didn't wait for an answer and put the kettle on. John tried to turn around so he could see her but grunted in pain.

Sherlock looked down at him with some amusement. "don't strain yourself John it's not good for you."

"he's just missed me." Molly said over her shoulder as she got the pot and tea cups out.

"you bet I have." John said, a dirty smile on his face.

"please John there are other people present." Sherlock frowned. He looked disgusted.

"oh don't be such a prude Sherlock. Its perfectly fine for a man to miss his lover physically." Molly butted in as she walked over and knelt next to John and kissed him. They giggled at each other and John stroked her hair.

"ugh." Sherlock turned his nose up, "I'll get the tea shall I?" he walked over and filled the pot with the boiled water, putting milk and sugar on the tray and walked back into the living room.

Molly had turned round and was sitting in the floor next to John, his arm round her.

"really Sherlock, I expected a slightly more grown up reaction. Judging by what Mycroft's been telling me, you and Irene have been doing exactly the same thing."

Sherlock looked indignant, "maybe so but I don't do that sort of thing with other people around. And since when were you and Mycroft such good chums."

"he's quite charming actually." Molly said, taking a tea and giving it to John.

"that's the problem." Sherlock pouted.

"and he cares about you. Very much." Molly was giving him a look that mummy always gave him when she lectured him about his brother.

"you look like my mother."

"don't sneer Sherlock, it's unattractive." she raised her eyebrow with a certain finality.

"humph." Sherlock sulked at the floor.

John laughed, "same Sherlock as always. You wait Molly, he'll drive you up the wall."

Molly peered over her tea cup at Sherlock, "actually John, he's been very well behaved. Haven't you sweet?"

"I'm not 'sweet'." Sherlock sneered again.

"oh yes you are." she said, getting up, "now whose for some cake?"

"chocolate?" John said hopefully.

"of course my love." she walked into the kitchen and took a cake out of the cupboard where she had been hiding it from Sherlock and presented it to her boys. They both took a piece and spilt crumbs everywhere. They grinned at each other and soon started giggling at the chocolate round each others faces.

After about three hours of chatting about the events of the past months Sherlock decided to get out his violin and play until the other two fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

John looked to the left of him at Sherlock. Mycroft was saying something about his brothers bravery and how he had sacrificed so much for the sake of his country and his friends.

"It was not until the last moment that Sherlock realised that his good friend and case partner, Dr John Watson could not know about his plans as Moriarty threatened the good Dr's life among a few others. So he did the only thing he could. Called John and said goodbye. It was better that his reputation be shattered and the world think him a fraud then for his friend to die. And believe me ladies and gentlemen, it was a very near thing."

John looked round at his friend again, surprise etched on his face. Sherlock grinned back at him. John felt himself welling up. God no, pull yourself together John! He thought. He could imagine the front page now, a picture of him crying and some daft headline. He'd never live that down.

"... And so I give you, Sherlock Holmes!" there was a huge roar from the crowd of press and public alike. It was strange, twenty minutes ago the entirety of the crowd not only thought that Sherlock was dead but that he staged crimes for his own personal gain. They thought he was a monster, now they loved him. Mycroft was good. He'd make a great dictator. So would Sherlock actually. Maybe it was a good thing that the two didn't get on. Together they could rule the world.

Sherlock stood up gracefully and shook his brothers hand. They hadn't mentioned the fact they were brothers so the press didn't smell a rat. They were buying it, lapping the entire story up like it was some kind of epic legend.

Sherlock spoke for a bit, indicated at John a couple of times, then Mycroft. Thanked Lestrade and the rest of Scotland yard and finally the person who shall remain nameless for helping him fake his death. He couldn't of done it alone. The crowd went mental.

John was thankful that Sherlock hadn't mentioned Molly by name and mentioned it to Sherlock while they were walking back, John in need of the light exercise as he hobbled on his crutches.

"well, I couldn't of mentioned her. She would of got in a lot of trouble at work." Sherlock smiled, "besides, she could do without the press attention. Not really her thing is it?"

"not really yours either." his friend pointed out.

"true." Sherlock conceded.

"won't she get some attention though? I mean she does live with us."

"hmm... She may well do. But I think she'll cope with being the confirmed bachelor's girlfriend." Sherlock smirked sideways

"I suppose she'll have to." he winced and Sherlock went to put his arms out in case he fell.

"are you sure you want to walk? We can get a cab." Sherlock's brows knitted with concern.

"I'm fine. I need the exercise. We can cut through the park."

"if you insist.." Sherlock was unconvinced.

"I do. And I am the doctor." he grinned, and the taller man grinned back.

They strolled through the park and Sherlock smiled, happy to be with his friend again.

"I think we're going to be alright, aren't we Sherlock ?"

"between you and me and Molly, I think we'll be fine."

"nice of you to include Molly." John looked up at him, surprised.

"Molly shares you." Sherlock grinned to himself.

John didn't get it, bit now was as good a time as any to tell him.

"Sherlock..." he looked at his hands.

"yes John." Sherlock looked behind him as he realised his friend had stopped.

"I'm going to marry her."

"isn't it a bit soon?" Sherlock was confused, John wasn't one to rush into things like this.

"well yeah, but I was always brought up to do the right thing and my mother would go mental if she found out..."

It clicked. "you mean..."

"yeah."

John looked up to see his friend smiling at him. And he smiled back.

"where are we going to put the nursery?"

"'we', Sherlock?"

"yes John. 'We'." and with that he turned on his heel and walked off, his pace slow so John could keep up.

"right" John said to no one in particular and made a mental note to never let Sherlock babysit.


	18. Chapter 18 epilogue

Epilogue

"John do we have any orange jam?" asked Sherlock.

"orange jam?" John said, giving him a look.

"that's what I said isn't it?"

"what did you say?" Molly asked as she waddled into the room. She was huge, if he didn't know better Sherlock would of said she was about to give birth to a fully grown adult. As it was she was having twins and Sherlock would be godfather to both.

"orange jam. Do we have any?" Molly was giving Sherlock a look now. "what?" He really didn't get it.

Molly laughed. "aren't _I_ supposed to be the one saying stupid things with baby brain?"

"I fail to see how what I'm saying is stupid." Sherlock crossed his arms, indignant.

"orange jam." declared John in his lecturing voice, "often called marmalade." the couple shared a look and then laughed at him.

Sherlock scowled, not used to being the butt of the joke, when his phone rang.

"Sherlock Holmes. Ah Lestrade what do you need?" he listened intently, a smile growing on his face as he did. He hung up and grinned at John.

"come on John, this should be interesting." he stalked over to the coat stand to fetch his and john's coats.

"uh, Sherlock.."

Molly put a hand on his arm. "go. I'll be here when you get back."

John smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. "your a wonder."

She kissed him back. "don't forget your gun. Be safe." and she watched as her boys rushed out the door to another ridiculously dangerous night.

**So, this is it. The end of my first fanfic! Please review, I'd love to know what you all thought of it.**


End file.
